The Hero, the Legend and the God
by Rarsh
Summary: With a slightly different childhood and his introduction to the Wizarding world in the company of Albus Dumbledore, Harry makes different friends and his entire life is affected. In the first few chapters, a series of events differ from canon: as a result, his adventures follow another path.
1. Chapter 1

_Harry Potter is already a powerful wizard. His occasional eruptions of accidental magic are stronger than what can be expected from a child, and the Dursleys have learned early enough to avoid angering their nephew. His name is well-known across the Wizarding World, and he strives to live up to his fame and to his title as a Hero._

_ Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore is said to be the greatest wizard alive. His reputation was earned and undoubted until the last war, when the strains of old age and a new opponent appeared. Still, Dumbledore is regarded as a beacon of light in this world and his name will never be forgotten, as he is a Legend._

_ Lord Voldemort, the only man to have ever been able to stand his own against Dumbledore in a fight, and the most powerful Dark Lord since many centuries. His powers were still growing the day his physical form was destroyed, and the world will bow to his feet at his return. With unequaled magical power, Lord Voldemort is a God among men._

Harry knew he was different. Looking back at his life, it was obvious: the unexplainable events, his weird relationship with his aunt, uncle, and cousin, the robed people who seemed to know him and occasionally shook his hand on the streets. Harry didn't know any other kids with similar lives, and it was disturbing. He would have liked to live with his parents, to have a normal childhood, and most of all to not have these dreams. Harry would some nights dream of a huge bearded man on a flying motorcycle, of people screaming and flashing green lights and of controlling that freakiness inside him. His uncle had stopped calling it freakiness when his car's windows mysteriously exploded as he was screaming at Harry for being a freak.

It wasn't the only incident of the sort. There was the time when a pair of scissors getting too close to his unruly hair spontaneously combusted, when a group of bullies running after him seemed to have teleported to the roof of the school, when his uncle Vernon had locked him in a cupboard for the night as punishment and he had woken up in his room. Those incidents were nearly always related to strong emotions: Harry knew he was scared by that cupboard under the stairs for some reason, but there was no telling why. Probably something that had happened too early in his life for him to remember. He could only hope that this particular memory would resurface someday, like the memory of "_The Glasses Incident"_ did.

It had only resurfaced a few months ago, through a dream at first, but then Harry had managed remembering it completely through pure focus. "_The Glasses Incident" _happened when Harry was only five. He had started wearing glasses a year before when his school teachers had noticed that Harry was unable to recognize drawings if he was farther away than a couple of meters. His aunt had gotten him secondhand glasses that corrected most of the problem but his cousin Dudley had found it extremely amusing to mock him and his unfitting glasses. Only a few days later Harry had found himself crying himself to sleep, wishing Dudley had been the one who needed glasses. The next day, his wish had been granted and six years later Dudley still needed correction for his eyesight while Harry enjoyed his perfect eyesight.

Yes, Harry was special and he knew it. If only he could control this weirdness about him, he would have all he wanted, he would be all powerful. Harry froze on his bed. After wishing he had control over the incidents he provoked, he'd never actually tried. Thinking back on it, it was probably because his _"family"_ had always talked about this freakiness as a bad thing, but _"The Glasses Incident"_ had proved him otherwise: it could benefit him greatly.

Slowly standing up, Harry decided he'd control his power as a self birthday present, a personal achievement. He sat at his small desk, and took a piece of paper before shredding it to bits of various sizes. He placed the torn bits of paper in order of increasing size so that he could easily hide them with what was lying around on the desk. He waited a minute, eyes closed, trying to concentrate. Harry had read heroic fantasy books where the hero would master their strengths through intense focus, and that's what he was trying to reproduce. He opened his eyes as he let out a long, slow and controlled breath, slowly directing his focus towards the smallest piece of paper. Harry visualized the paper slowly floating in the air, and after even more minutes, he tried to release his focus on the light object, willing it to float, to obey his mental command; to be the first step toward omnipotence.

He took it as a challenge when it didn't move. A challenge he would overcome over the coming month, as his birthday was approaching. Thus, for over an hour a night and every night for two weeks, Harry persevered in his efforts to impose his will on the tiny piece of paper. Not once did it even come close to the slightest movement, but with every single attempt he felt like something was growing inside him, like a slumbering power within himself was slowly being forced to awaken. With that feeling, Harry gained confidence, and that confidence helped with the other exercises he had decided to practice every night.

The retrieval of the cupboard memory was coming close; he could feel it with every single particle in his body. Harry's mind had never been that organized, and he had found out recently that meditation helped him perfectly remember memories that had faded or that were blurred by emotions, even though the latter case made it harder to recover the memories. Slowly, night after night, Harry came closer to discovering what terrible trauma hid behind the cupboard under the stairs.

On the night of the fifteenth of July, Harry knew it wouldn't be long anymore. In his now nicely organized memories, Harry detected a few holes, and deduced those were the memories his unconscious had tried to suppress. Split between excitement and fear, he started trying to unlock the repressed memory. The elements had started appearing in his mind, the first being an emotion, jealousy. The picture of Dudley trying to carry a mountain of carefully wrapped presents while Harry found a penny in a dirty sock came next. The rage of Vernon Dursley, his face turning purple by the second, and Petunia scolding him for trying to ruin his cousin's birthday with a tantrum, followed. Then there was pain, stronger than any he could remember, in his stomach; his uncle had kicked him when he was just a small kid. Finally, he saw the cupboard and darkness.

It was clear now, the puzzle was complete, and as a bonus he now knew why his uncaring adoptive family had decided to give him his own room. That night the freakiness had been unleashed like not once before and never again did Harry cause such destruction around him. It had been slow and hate-fueled destruction, slowly weakening the walls, making the tap water toxic and foul-tasting, and disease creeping in the weak Muggle bodies of his family over the course of a few days.

Harry broke out of his deep focus, crying, sweating and panting. Ok, when reliving those moments, he had felt _powerful_, but he understood why his mind would have suppressed the memory: that power was wrong, it was evil and despite the potential it held, Harry felt dirty and soiled to have used something so bad, something _Dark_. That was the word. Harry could do magic, and that was Dark Magic. Still shivering from the experience, he silently vowed to never abuse of that power ever again, not if he could have any form of control over it.

And then there was that word: _Muggle_. Harry had definitely thought it and meant it at the time, but the word didn't feel like it had been coming from himself. Harry briefly wondered if that Dark Magic was the source of his freakiness, but he brushed that thought away, some incidents hadn't involved anything as disgusting. Sometimes, when Harry simply seemed to heal faster than the other kids, he could feel that energy running through him, and it actually felt like it was a Good Thing. He concluded that his power was neutral in a way, and that it would be up to him to use it for the Dark or for the Good. Still, he decided that _Muggle_ was a word he'd research and then maybe he'd learn more about that Dark power in him.

It took several minutes of breathing exercises and meditation for Harry to calm down, but when he felt like he was fully in control of himself again, he realized something important. When he'd released so much energy around him in that memory, Harry had managed to capture the way this energy felt. He slowly walked to his desk and to the smallest piece of paper.

Harry whispered "_Rise_", and the paper obeyed.

Dumbledore thought back on the Privet Drive incident so many years ago. When his instruments had showed him that Harry was exposed to Dark Magic, he quickly apparated in front of the house and he remembered being shocked at the sheer presence of the Dark. Despite his best efforts, he hadn't been able to stop the magic from pouring out of Harry's scar for a few days and the damage had been hard to repair. All memories of the incident had been obliviated and there was no trace of it left after a few months, but a problem remained. That Dark Magic, no kid could produce such a thing, and the fact that it had Voldemort's magical signature on it was a source of great concern, especially since the Dark Magic seemed to emanate from the boy's scar.

The old Headmaster turned his attention to the instrument that was automatically writing all the Hogwarts admission letters. When it finished Harry Potter's, he caught the letter before it was sent by owl. "The boy is too much like Riddle. I have to keep him close to me, and it starts with this letter", he thought. He pocketed the letter and went on to his other businesses.

After ten days of efforts, Harry had a much better control over his powers. He could levitate an entire sheet of paper but it was too slow. Every time he tried to levitate something, he had to dive back into his memories to retrieve the feeling of handling magic, otherwise he couldn't do it. This way, it took him ten to thirty seconds to levitate the paper, and he needed deep focus to do so. That meant that even if he had achieved his goal, he couldn't levitate anything useful and he needed both time and calm to do so.

Having reached this conclusion, Harry decided to try a new approach. First he'd spend a few days trying to find the shortest memory that helped him with the magic, and then he'd keep doing his mental searching exercises, only he would do his best to keep that memory as close to surface of his mind as possible. If he could achieve that, Harry thought he might be able to summon that memory faster and more easily, thus using his magic faster. Then came the question of raw power. If he'd been able to very nearly destroy his house and his relatives at five, surely at eleven he could do more than lift a sheet of paper. He thought about that feeling inside him, the thing he could feel growing every time he used magic: it seemed to have been growing faster recently, and lifting the paper did seem easier every time he tried it. Maybe someday he'd manage to lift his obese family and toss them in the garbage truck, he thought with a smile.

The smile lingered on his face for a minute as he dreamed of one day becoming a powerful magician capable of bending the laws of reality to his will, before going back to his exercises.

Harry heard someone ring the front door bell and stiffened. There was something wrong: that visit had to be unexpected: whenever the Dursleys invited someone or even expected a delivery, they instructed him to remain silent and in his room. Having received no such instructions that day, he quickly sneaked out of his room and went to have a look at the front door from the top of the stairs. He arrived in time to see Vernon reached for the doorknob while muttering something about unexpected visits – the Dursleys _hated_ surprises – and, when the door was finally opened, Harry saw the weirdest man.

He was a tall, old man wearing a set of very flashy yellow robes. His white beard reached his waist and his blue eyes had a peculiar twinkle behind his simple half-moon glasses. The man's wide smile did nothing to stop Vernon from screaming and trying to slam the door close, but the door instead slammed _open_ when the old man waved some sort of stick in his hand. Vernon had to step back to avoid the high-velocity door, and after a second of intense fuming, he spoke in a low but rising threatening voice "I will not allow any more of you freaks inside of my house. We took your stupid baby, now LEAVE US ALONE!"

Harry was watching the scene in amazement: this man could do magic like him! And he showed great control, speed and strength when he used his wand. Without thinking he rushed down the stairs, screaming "Teach me! Teach me!" until he had to run around Vernon in order to get closer to the man. "I want to do that too, I can do magic but not like you, you have to show me please!" Harry begged. The old wizard still had a smile plastered on his face and the twinkle didn't leave his eyes when he entered the house, leaving behind him a completely gob smacked Vernon behind him. Harry's uncle's rage seemed to be slowly building up until the man cast him a warning look.

Harry watched as he saw his uncle freeze in terror. Because of a look. That guy had to be powerful. "I believe the living room would be a much better choice for us to speak than the entrance, Harry." He could only nod as he tried to work out _how in the bloody hell_ that guy knew his name. But then, it occurred to him that Vernon had already answered that question. "Was it you who gave me to my uncle and aunt?"

"Yes." He simply answered.

"Why did you do that?" Harry suddenly disliked the old fart who had decided he had the right to make Harry's life a true hell. "Why did you do this to me?" he asked again, this time with anger seeping into his voice.

"You must calm down, Harry. There is much you need to learn, and soon enough you'll understand my decision to entrust you to your relatives. Until then, I will ask you o be patient and to hear my story." he answered, his voice firm and his smile growing more serious.

Harry considered his options: he could thrown a fit like a toddler and yell at the ancient and powerful mage standing before him, thus gaining nothing in the process, or he could force his patience and actually listen to him. His choice was quickly settled before he saw his aunt Petunia standing in the doorway. The stranger had already led him to the sofa while sitting he had settled in an armchair. Petunia had a weird look on her face, she obviously had seen the man before, and her look held a mixture of worry and pain. His fat cousin Dudley was trying to hide his large body behind his mother while Vernon still stood completely flabbergasted in the entrance. That was quite the weird scene, he thought.

"Harry" he called to get his attention. Seeing as the boy was now staring at him in awe, his mother's eyes on his father's face still showing a little anger mixed with determination, he continued.

"Harry, you must have noticed by now that you are not a usual boy." He waited for a nod before continuing: "You are a wizard. Your parents were wizards, gifted at that, and that means you are going to attend the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry for the next seven years of your life. It is a boarding school of which I am the Headmaster. And, before I forget my manners, my name is Albus Dumbledore."

Dumbledore paused and Harry took it as an opportunity to try and digest the information. _Okay, that explains a lot_, he thought. "So… You're going to teach me how to do magic a little better?"

The Headmaster seemed intrigued when he answered "You can already control your magic?"

Wasting no time, Harry told him all about his progress over the summer, though he decided to remove the time he'd nearly killed his relatives from his tale. He then asked for a piece of paper, which Dumbledore conjured out of thin air. Harry had to shake himself awake after staring dumbly at the paper for a few long seconds, and started concentrating. Sure enough, after twenty seconds of deep focus, the piece of paper rose from the table.

Dumbledore adopted a concentrated expression. He was lost in his thoughts for a short minute before coming back to reality: "Harry, it is amazing that you show such control over your magic. I suggest you should keep practicing until the school starts, and even then it might be a good idea to try and improve your abilities without a wand. You will certainly find it useful later in your life. Now, there is a question you asked me, and I will do my best to answer it. Harry, your parents were great wizards and they fought for what is good in this world. For that reason, the Dark Lord Voldemort decided that they needed to disappear. You see, Voldemort had started a war to try and gain control of Magical Britain, and I was the one who led the resistance against him."

"What is interesting is that once he had killed your parents, he was unable to kill you. You, Harry, survived the Killing Curse and the only trace it left is that scar on your forehead." He paused to let his words sink in Harry's mind.

"Moreover, Voldemort wasn't only unable to kill you; the curse backfired and destroyed him. For this reason, you are a hero in the Magical World. You can expect to be in the spotlights wherever you go, and many will go out of their way to thank you. Unfortunately, some of Voldemort's followers are still devoted to their master; I had no choice but to entrust you to your family as a form of ancient magic will protect you from harm here."

Harry was dazed by the amount of information he'd just received. The conversation ended when Harry expressed his eagerness at discovering the world he'd been dreaming of for all those years, and Dumbledore said with a smile that they'd leave this very afternoon.

_I must be extremely careful_, Dumbledore thought when they reached the Leaky Cauldron. _Harry is already strong and perhaps prone to anger; I must not fail him like I failed Tom Riddle_. Seeing as Harry was giving him a questioning look, he left his train of thought, gave him a small smile, and entered the pub.

"Does our Headmaster want to drink something?" the barman asked.

"No thank you, Tom. I am here to attend an entirely different matter." He answered with a wave toward Harry at the end.

There was a second when everyone started scrutinizing the young boy that accompanied Dumbledore. The first stares were questioning, why would the Headmaster himself help a boy with his school supplies? He usually sent a professor to attend that matter, so he had to be important. When Harry started cowering under the intense stares of the patrons, Dumbledore laid his hand on his shoulder as a sign of comfort.

"It's... it's… it's Harry Potter!" one exclaimed, and then all hell broke loose. They were suddenly circled by the patrons, all of them trying to thank him, shake his hand, give him something or even just touch him. When Dumbledore felt magic rising from the boy, he only had to state "Enough!" with a stern glare to shut everyone up. The protective magic Harry was releasing slowly disappeared while the others had the decency to look sheepish.

"Harry is still a boy. I know all you want is to show your appreciation of what happened when he was still a baby, but suffocating him will not help him fit into our world. Apparently a lot of you haven't grown up since your days in Hogwarts, and now I expect you to remain calm and help Harry."

With those words the Headmaster walked to the brick wall behind the pub, dragging Harry along. He tapped the bricks in a particular pattern with his wand, and a few seconds later an archway appeared where there was only a wall. The older man allowed harry to stare at the results of the magic trick before urging him to enter Diagon Alley. Harry didn't say a word while they passed shops upon shops of magical and eccentric goods, and the only reasons he didn't run into each and every one of them were Dumbledore's nice but strong grip on his shoulder and the fact that he was penniless.

They finally came to a stop in front of a giant marble building, and once they had passed the huge reinforced doors Harry understood that it was a magical bank. Run by real goblins. He was so strongly interested in the place that he didn't notice Dumbledore leave his side to come back a minute later with a goblin. "Harry, this is Griphook. He will take us to your vault so we can withdraw some gold for your school supplies." He could only mutter a shy "Hi" in front of the goblin, as when he took the time to study his features more carefully he saw the rows of sharp and threatening teeth.

Afterwards, Dumbledore presented a key to the goblin who led them to a railcar. The thing moved at a terrifying speed but after a few seconds Harry found that he quite enjoyed the ride. Once they had reached his vault, he was shocked by the mountains of gold that he owned. _The things I could do with that money…_

Hours later they were done with most of the school supplies and the Headmaster told him that all he need then was his first wand and some robes. Upon entering the wandmaker Ollivander's shop, a hunched old man with few strands of white hair and mad eyes made his way to them. He was about to open his mouth to say something when there was a rumbling sound farther in the shop. The boy and the two old men turned around to see a box slowly gliding on the ground before stopping at H

Harry's feet. After sparing a glance at the other wizards, he pried it open and retrieved the wand inside. At first nothing happened. Then, he adjusted his grip on the wooden stick and shifted his feet, matching a professional dueling stance. There was a red glint in his eyes and a maniacal grin split his face when he waved the wand and levitated Ollivander an inch off the ground.

A second later, Ollivander got back on his feet, Harry's position and expression reverted to genuine childish curiosity, and the silence lingered. Ignoring the other two, Harry sat on a small bench on a side of the shop to examine the fine piece of wood he held. He had simply waved it and slightly focused on the way he felt when levitating the pieces of paper in his room. Except this time, he had levitated a man. Then he realized that he had felt differently for a split second. He had handled and used the wand as if it had been his for a lifetime, and he had dropped the man for another reason: something in himself had changed, surprised Harry and broken his focus. But what was it that had changed? He didn't feel different anymore and guessed that whatever it was had gone back to normal.

Anyway, it was gone now and he raised his head to see Dumbledore give seven gold pieces to the man and motion him to leave. On his way out, Harry heard Dumbledore mutter a word in his back: "Obliviate"?

Upon entering Madam Malkin's shop to procure some school robes, Dumbledore handled discussing with the aged woman while magical measuring tapes pushed Harry in a corner before starting to measure him. A few meters away from him a cute blonde girl was giving him a suspicious look. She made a slight motion with her head, as if to ask "Who the hell are you?", and Harry only answered by wandlessly levitating a strand of his hair, thus revealing his scar, with a wink. He felt pretty stupid showing off like that, but the cute girl had seemed rather impressed and he must have failed to repress his blush because she adopted an amused smile seconds later. Minutes later, he was leaving the shop in the company of the Headmaster and with a complete set of robes: school robes, casual robes, even formal robes; after all, he'd figured that his money certainly wouldn't spend itself.

The girl was long gone at that point, and Harry thanked the Gods for that as he certainly felt way too shy to talk to her after his little stunt inside. With their shopping over, he was led by the old man to the Alley's apparition point before silently appearing in number 4 Privet Drive's back garden.


	2. Chapter 2

Harry was eager to leave for King's Cross. Weeks before, he'd spent his birthday alone, reflecting on the revelations brought upon his life by Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and most influential man of Magical Britain. Harry was a wizard, and a famous one at that! Judging from what he'd seen in Diagon Alley, even eleven year old girls could recognize him with a simple look at his scar. With a smile, he'd realized that he may never have to spend a birthday alone, not ever again. The following day, he'd finally start his magical education; Harry was impatient, but also nervous. Not only would he have to adapt to a completely different world, that world had high expectations of him. Being the Boy-Who-Lived, as some called him was both a blessing and a curse. His past would grant him many opportunities to prove himself, but should he fail to meet the expectations of people who were raised to think of him as their savior, surely he'd be ridiculed, ostracized, humiliated. _No, Harry Potter will be everything they believe him to be, and much more_, he decided.

Of course, it couldn't be easy to pretend to be at ease in the shoes of a hero, which meant that he would need allies, people whom could be allowed to see through his mask and understand the true Harry Potter; otherwise they wouldn't be able to help him. Maybe that girl he'd seen at Diagon Alley, though he wasn't sure he would even be able to recognize her. He was still trying to plan his future life when he fell asleep, a determined expression adorning his eleven year old face.

The next morning, Harry had to focus to stop bouncing in his seat in Vernon Dursley's car. The man was enraged by the sheer presence of his nephew, but the prospect of not seeing him for the next ten months gave him the strength to drive the little freak to the train station. The instant he stopped the vehicle, Harry was already pulling his trunk and his pet owl's cage. The snow-white bird was called Hedwig, and was a gift from Dumbledore. Without turning back or a single word, he drew a deep breath and tried to look composed as he walked toward the barrier between the platforms nine and ten. Despite his best efforts, he couldn't refrain himself from smiling when he emerged on the magical platform nine three quarters, a steaming red engine on his right. All over the platform, magical families were saying their goodbyes before a long year apart from each others. A couple of them caught his eye: first, a family of redheads. The only girl and youngest member of the family was crying as her four brothers gathered their trunks to leave, and two of said brothers were twins, each sporting a mischievous smile. Then, there was this blond boy trying and failing miserably to avoid his mother's embarrassing goodbye kisses and hugs, while his father wore a superior and scornful glare.

As he'd left his only family behind and obviously didn't recognize anyone on the platform, Harry made his way into the train. Most compartments were already occupied, and his quest for an empty one led him far into the train, until he opened the door to a compartment occupied by two girls. He was about to excuse himself and leave when he froze: "Oh… Hi, I saw you at Madam Malkin's." he stammered to the blonde girl he'd tried to impress in Diagon Alley.

He was still trying to overcome his nervousness and bring a smile to his face when she grabbed him and manhandled him into one of the seats. Closing the door, she half-shouted, half-whispered "You're Harry Potter!"

Not allowing him to properly answer, she turned to her friend: "I told you I'd seen him!" and addressed him again: "Do it again!"

"Do what exactly?"

"The thing with your hair!"

With a nod, he closed his eyes for a few seconds before starting to wandlessly levitate random strands of his own hair. Amused by the girls' gob smacked expressions, he started messing the blonde girl's hair up. His focus broke when a soft chuckle escaped his mouth: the look on their faces was priceless!

The girls then introduced themselves: the blonde was called Daphne Greengrass and her friend with chestnut hair was called Tracey Davis. Both were rather good-looking, and when he realized that Harry couldn't help but feel a little intimidated. After a few questions concerning his childhood that he didn't feel comfortable enough to answer, he tried to steer the conversation toward the Hogwarts Houses. Having read all of his school books and a few others – even one about himself -, Harry was confident that he could sound at ease in such a conversation.

As it turned out, both girls were pretty confident that they would be sorted into Slytherin like their parents. Tracey's muggleborn father had been sorted into Hufflepuff but that was only because he was afraid of the way the Slytherins would have treated him: the Sorting Hat had at first suggested Slytherin. Harry knew that it was expected of him to be the perfect Gryffindor because of his family and because Voldemort's followers had mainly been Slytherins. When he told them about that, their reaction was unexpected. For the next three hours, Daphne Greengrass ranted about how he had the potential to achieve greatness in the house of the snakes. He had money, fame, and his wandless powers were apparently a sign of exceptional power. In fact, from what the girls told him, even wizards like Albus Dumbledore were unable to perform wandless magic until after at least a decade of training, and that revelation truly surprised Harry. Dumbledore had been rather impressed by his wandless levitation, but he'd never told him how rare it was for a ten year old boy to do that.

When she had finished her monologue, which was accompanied by Tracey's occasional input, Harry admitted out loud that Slytherin was indeed more interesting than he'd initially thought. At those words, Daphne's face lit up and she launched herself in another but slightly shorter rant filled with advice on how to become respected in the house of the cunning. She told him about what she called her "Ice Queen persona", a façade she would use to distance herself from others and appear superior. Tracey only seemed amused by Daphne's idea and admitted she had something else in mind. She'd do her best to look warm and friendly but be ruthless to anyone who dared cross her.

Harry thought about what he had just heard. Those girls had already planned their future lives as Slytherins, and just that should prove enough to land them in the house of the cunning. However, he realized, the both of them had just opened up to him, they'd shown trust toward someone they barely knew. Of course Daphne had understood that Harry was currently overwhelmed by the recent revelations about his life, status and future, and that mustn't have led her to think of him as a potential threat. He would have to remedy that, looking harmless was not going to do him any good, especially if he was sorted into Slytherin, those bastards would destroy him. Harry decided that, if he had to, then he'd be the bastard, and be on the right side of the wand.

Pulling himself out of his thoughts, he realized that the girls were expecting him to tell them about himself, and how he planned to survive in Hogwarts. Even though the conversation appeared light, they weren't joking around; Harry could read the honesty in their faces. He drew a deep breath before answering.

"It all depends on the Sorting. If I become a Gryffindor, I'll try to live up to their ideals. I'll be brave and do my best to look strong while doing so. If I'm a Hufflepuff, I'll teach that school what true loyalty means, and they'll learn not to screw with my friends. If the Hat sorts me in Ravenclaw, I'll be serious in my studies, of course, but in order to look more… scholar, I'll concentrate on learning not more, but different things. My point is that if I not only do well in my classes, but I'm also knowledgeable in more obscure types of magic, people won't doubt my place in Ravenclaw.

Then there's Slytherin. That'll be the hardest one; one cannot simply decide to be cunning. Of course, what with the Boy-Who-Lived nonsense, I have a head start. It won't be hard to make use of my fame at first, and the wandless tricks should be enough to impress more than a few. No, the real problem will be to sustain my front in the long term. If I show weakness, then I've lost.

Now that I think about it, the fact that I planned all that in a matter of seconds and my ambition to become more than even what is expected of me should be enough to have me sit at the Slytherin table tonight."

There, he'd opened up. Now all he could do was hope that those two wouldn't tell anyone who wants to hear it that the Slytherin Prince was in fact an insecure child behind his mask of lordly grandeur. Of course, he had the same kind of knowledge about Daphne, and Tracey to a lesser extent, so he should be safe with them.

Their conversation led to the decision that if they wanted to achieve anything in Hogwarts, then they'd have to stick together. It would be helpful to have someone, or two someones for that matter, in front of whom they could show their true colors. Each of the three first years proceeded to promise that they wouldn't betray the others, as if they would rule Slytherin, then they would rule it together.

It wasn't long before the Hogwarts Express reached the Hogsmeade Station and the three kids, now dressed in their school robes, left the vehicle and followed the booming voice of the half-giant Groundskeeper.

At his instructions, they boarded a small boat on the Black Lake. A chubby boy sat with them on the boat's fourth seat, and immediately he started looking heavily intimidated. The three friends watched him with some curiosity, which led him to sink as deep in his seat as his rather large frame allowed him to. Apparently they had managed their superior and smug looks rather well, even if the boy was apparently already shy. They gave each others curt nods and slightly amused smiles and stayed silent for the rest of the ride, hoping that they would have the same effects on the rest of Hogwarts.

The castle was magnificent from the lake. Still, actually seeing it made Harry nervous: that was going to be his true home for the seven years to come, and pretty much the basis of his new life. The fear of screwing something up early in his first year, hell, during the Sorting, haunted his thoughts. So many things could go wrong, especially when you're supposed to be a national hero and expect to end up in the snake pit they call Slytherin House. With his nervousness eating him from the inside, the following minutes stretched to hours.

Harry felt like he was waking up when He heard the words "Davis, Tracey!" shouted by the Deputy headmistress and Transfiguration Professor, the stern McGonagall. He did remember how he'd ended up there, but it had passed as a blur, the only thing dragging him out of his anxiety-induced trance being the name of one of his first friends in the Magical World. He watched the chestnut-haired pretty girl put the Hat on her head. The way it fell over her eyes was pretty funny but he didn't expect it to happen differently with him, so he refrained even the tiniest smile.

"Slytherin!"

Harry clapped along with Daphne and the Slytherin table for a few seconds. He started staring at the enchanted ceiling – how on earth had he not noticed it yet! – and after a few minutes, he heard the call "Greengrass, Daphne!". He gave her a word of encouragement and watched with a small smile as the Hat decided to shout "Slytherin!" after less than a second on the pretty witch's head. Harry's smile died down with the realization that if he was sorted anywhere else, then he'd be separated from his only friend, and maybe from most opportunities to accomplish his ambitions. He plunged once again in his nervous zombie-like state, and woke up at the words "Potter, Harry!".

A small look around him and he saw surprise, curiosity, and awe on the faces of the Hogwarts students. Apparently most hadn't expected him to show up, maybe they didn't learn how to add 1980 and 11 in magical primary school. His inside joke brought a small smile to his face, which he managed to morph into a confident and superior smirk. All in all, he was pretty satisfied by his confident, powerful wizard act, especially considering the fact that he was so nervous he wanted to throw up and curl into a ball before crying softly. Of course, it wouldn't be lordly enough for his plans to do so, and he was glad to be able to sit down when he reached the Sorting at, which he calmly deposited on his head in the hope that it wouldn't cover his eyes. He was wrong.

"Hmm, difficult. VERY difficult. Plenty of courage, I see. Not a bad mind, either. There's talent, oh yes. And a thirst to prove yourself. But where to put you? " the Hat spoke in his head.

"How about Slytherin?" he answered mentally, and with confidence he had trouble maintaining.

"You could be great, you know. It's all here in your head. And Slytherin will help you on the way to greatness, there's no doubt about that."

"How about shouting 'Slytherin!' right now since we agree, right?" the confidence was starting to run low in poor Harry's mind, and even though his thoughts were cheeky, they were quavering in fear.

"Eager, are you? Too bad I was going to reveal something you will never know now!" it answered before screaming "Slytherin!" for the Hall to hear.

Harry froze on his seat. McGonagall had pulled the Hat off, and now he couldn't help but wonder what that "revelation" was. Maybe it was just bluffing? Could the Sorting Hat actually _prank_ the students? He stored that train of thought away for later use, and tried to resume his lordly wizard act while scanning the Hall. While the Slytherins were happy, most of the Hall was frozen in shock, and maybe, in some instances, in denial. Still, his smirk found its way back to Harry's face, and he sat at the Slytherin table between Tracey and Daphne. Sitting down, he noticed that two men were staring at him strangely. The first was Albus Dumbledore, who looked surprised but also amused. The other was a greasy-haired bat-like man. His scowl was slightly tainted by an eyebrow raised out of curiosity.

The Welcoming Feast continued peacefully. Harry and his two female friends expressed their relief at being sorted in the House of their choice, before the conversation turned to a gathering of information about the other students who sat at their table. Daphne and Tracey knew a lot of them as they were regularly dragged by their parents to meetings of the proper society. What he retained from this conversation was that Draco Malfoy would certainly try to befriend Harry in order to elevate his own standing in his House. The problem was that he was a smug prick who carried influence because of his father, so Harry found pros and cons in allying himself to the blonde ponce.

After eating, some singing and a nonsensical speech by the Headmaster, all Slytherin first years found themselves following their prefects to the dungeons, where their dormitories were hidden. _They literally hid the dormitories, why on earth would they do that? _He thought, before his thoughts turned to something more along the lines of _Why is it so cold and humid and far away?_

They finally passed through a password protected stone wall and entered the Slytherin Common Room. The walls, furniture, fireplace and tapestries were all richly decorated in the cold green and silver colors of the snake pit. The few windows barely let any light in, and one could see indistinct shapes moving on the other side. _The Black Lake?_

Harry continued staring at the windows while wondering who had the brilliant idea to have students live under a lake for a few minutes. He then joined the other first years with whom he'd have to live with for seven years, and was nearly sad to see that his roommates were no other than Draco Malfoy and his two idiot bodyguards, Crabbe and Goyle. With a sigh he thought he'd have to remind himself to read up on privacy magic and basic wards, because there was no way those two didn't snore, and he'd never feel safe sleeping that close to someone who held the firm belief that he was royalty. Harry decided he'd interrupt any of his roommate's attempts at talking to him with bored looks and annoyed groans, and was the first to fall asleep.

The next morning Harry awoke to a particularly loud snore. Trying to identify which of the two goons had produced that earthquake of a snore, he had trouble coming to the conclusion that it had emerged from Draco's bed. He checked the hour on his mechanical watch and, seeing that breakfast wasn't until another half hour, he headed out of the dungeons to explore for a bit.

His aimless walk brought him straight to the library. He still had fifteen minutes before breakfast and started looking for books on privacy charms. He checked out two of those, put them in his bag and went for the Great Hall. Tracey and Daphne were already sitting and motioned for him to join them. Soon they were telling him about their own roommates, Pansy Parkinson and Millicent Bulstrode. Pansy was a pug-faced idiot who had a crush on Malfoy while Millicent was physically closer to Crabbe and Goyle than your regular eleven year old witch. They wondered if there was any cunning left in Slytherin apart from themselves and maybe, to a lesser extent, Malfoy. Still, they all thought it would be safer not to assume all of their Housemates were idiots, just in case.

"So you're really Potter."

They looked up to see Draco shooting him a smug and half-friendly smile. Crabbe and Goyle were sitting on either side of him. Both had their arms crossed and tried to look intimidating, though despite their best efforts they still looked harmless compared to the Bulstrode girl.

"And you are Malfoy. What brings you here?" Harry answered, finding it easy to sound at least as superior as Malfoy.

"I've come to offer you my friendship. My father is one of the richest and most influential men of the country, and it would be wise of you to accept." He explained, every bit as smugly as expected.

Harry had to fight an internal struggle to avoid bursting out laughing and being insulting when he'd ask him why he should want to be his friend when his father was the interesting part of the offer.

"It's nice to meet you, Malfoy, but pardon me if I'd like to get to know you before promising anything. After all, it's you I'll spend seven years around, not your father. Still, I'm honored."

"Great. I'll see you around then." He finished, and they noticed he sounded a little disappointed that Harry was not licking his boots clean.

Breakfast continued without incident, and Slytherin Head of House and Potions Professor Snape distributed their schedules to his students. Their first class was twenty minutes later with their Head of House, so they quickly finished eating and all first year Slytherins and Gryffindors gathered around the greasy-haired man who had sneered at Harry the previous day so he could show them the way.

The potions class was weird. First of all, Snape didn't do any actual teaching: all he did was write instructions on the black board sneer and remove points from the Gryffindors. Several times he looked at Harry as if he was going to say something before reconsidering. He'd apparently decided that he'd hate two Gryffindors called Neville and Ron in particular. It was true that both were pretty bad at Potions, but considering that Neville was the shy boy from the boat, maybe he was exaggerating a little in his comments and punishments. There was also this bushy-haired girl who had seemingly learned her textbooks through and through, though the Potions Master childishly refused to hear her out or let her answer his questions.

Looking back at his first week in Hogwarts, Harry came to a couple of conclusion. Draco had adopted a wait and see approach with the Boy-Who-Lived, for which the latter was thankful. Not that he was exactly bad company, but one could only listen to him for short durations, else he did become annoying pretty fast. Daphne and Tracey were obviously going to be great friends to him; they were extremely helpful both in schoolwork and in helping him keep up his façade. In fact, his "get away from me you inferior excuse of a wizard who hasn't even defeated a single Dark Lord in his youth" persona worked pretty well since less people than he had expected had actually tried to approach him. It even seemed that those who wanted to have a word with him tended to try and befriend Tracey before talking to him.

Classes were going ok, with Harry always being among the first to master new spells (damn that bushy-haired girl, she was always faster than him) and with his discipline preventing Snape from punishing him as much as the git would have liked. The best time had been the first Charms lesson, with the small and excited Professor Flitwick.

"Remember, it's _Wingardium Leviosa_! The wand motion is a swish and flick."

A broad toothy grin on his face, Harry wandlessly levitated his feather while looking his professor in the eye. The part-goblin squeaked loudly and asked him to stay after class, when he had Harry levitate various objects, even though Harry couldn't lift anything much heavier than a quill. Flitwick suggested assisting him in learning wandless magic, since as a former duelist he'd learned how to summon his wand back to his hand. Harry gladly accepted and agreed to let him tell the other professors about his talent.

It was Friday night and after reading the instructions one last time? He circled his bed while waving his wand in precise motions and chanting under his breath. After three attempts he finally felt something happen. A little excited, he sat on his bed and threw a rock he had picked up outside against the ground a couple of feet away from him. He heard the impact. Smiling, he picked it back up and threw it about halfway between his bed and Malfoy's, the impact was still loud. The third time he sent it against the frame of the ponce's bed, and the impact was silent. For the following minutes he practiced activating and deactivating the basic soundproof ward and controlling the distance it covered. _Tonight, I will sleep_, he thought with a victorious shout, his voice being prevented from leaving the room by the ward.

Tracey, Daphne and harry met up the following day to spend their Saturday taking care of all their homework at the Library. Just like every time he'd been there, the _same_ bushy-haired girl was there, seemingly content only when working or surrounded by literal piles of books. _That girl's mind must be a library, what the hell is she doing in Gryffindor?_, he wondered. Maybe someday he'd try and get to know her a little. Assuming she remembered most of what she read, she was a potentially useful ally, a source of knowledge without comparison; besides, he could do with a spy in Gryffindor.

They had completed their afternoon at some point during the afternoon – the bookworm was still there – and so they left to have a walk on the grounds. With Daphne on his right and Tracey on his left, he realized that his escort was much more pleasant than Malfoy's, which was composed of two ugly mindless towers of muscle and fat.

Harry was practicing his wandless levitation on gravel with the girls' encouragement when he realized someone was heading toward them. He let the gravel fall to the ground and rose to his feet to greet Albus Dumbledore, whatever he was doing there.

"Lovely day for a stroll on the grounds, isn't it children?" he asked with a disturbing twinkle behind his half-moon glasses.

"Yes it is, Headmaster. Did you want to talk to us about something?" Harry answered, trying to be straight to the point.

The old man had a small smile when he replied "I am truly sorry to interrupt you and your friends, but I only wanted to ask if you would be willing to come to my office tomorrow at four. With your permission, I think it will be interesting to try and monitor this interesting talent of yours." And, to illustrate his talking, he effortlessly levitated a rock off the ground. _That thing must weight twelve pounds_, he thought. _I bet I could learn a lot from him_.

"Of course sir, I'd be honored."

At those words, the most powerful wizard of the century turned around and walked back to the castle. Harry and his friends, after wondering what he meant by _monitoring_ his ability and whether he'd advise him on the matter of wandless magic, resumed their spare time activities.

Deep inside the castle, two identical redheads sat in the fumes of a boiling potion, plotting their next prank. Soon, the blond Poof of Slytherin would regret insulting the Weasley name. But for that, they would need a contact, an insider, and Operation Seduce Potter was nigh.

Their mad cackling was interrupted when their cauldron melted, coating their skin in corrosive potion. Next time, they'd plan after the potion was finished.

Higher in Hogwarts, a tired bearded wizard sat contemplating recent events. _Harry Potter, a Slytherin. Who would have thought?_ He mused.

He truly hoped the next day's experiment would help him understand the boy. He was obviously stronger than his counterparts, but not overly so. Then, it was obvious that Voldemort had left him more than a scar that night. _What are his powers, and how will Harry interact with them?_ Yes, Dumbledore genuinely hoped Sunday would bring answers.


	3. Chapter 3

Sunday morning was the stuff of legends for Harry. He slept late, his soundproofing ward blocking every single one of Malfoy's snores. A hot shower finished waking him up before he headed to the Common Room. There were a few students there, and his two best friends were reading something, looking rather sleepy.

"Hey girls, doesn't look like you slept too well."

"You wouldn't believe. Bulstrode realized she had her first period in the middle of the night and freaked out. She thought someone had used a curse on her or something until she got to Madam Pomfrey's. Thing is, her screams woke up nearly everyone. How come you could sleep?" Daphne answered.

"Oh, just a soundproof ward. Not much" he added with a cheeky grin.

Daphne and Tracey looked at each other and the latter said "Guess we can stop looking for a privacy spell then." They turned to him so he could teach them the ward, which occupied them until it was time for an early lunch. The girls had also skipped breakfast, having been woken up too early and occupied with their reading since then. They ate quietly, Harry because he was so relaxed and the two others because they were too tired to keep up a conversation. At some point he tried to levitate pumpkin juice into his goblet, though the lack of precision the beginners of wandless magic suffered from hindered his attempts and he ended up dropping it on his plate. Seeing the juice coating his bacon pretty much robbed him of his appetite.

Turning his head around, he couldn't help but let out a small "Aww" at what he saw. Tracey was trying to fall asleep on Daphne's shoulder, who looked lost and unsure of what she should do. Trying to figure out a nice way to remind the sleepy girl that they were in the Great Hall, he didn't see someone approach them from behind.

"Potter."

Tracey jumped and Harry turned around. Draco was bearing his friendliest smile, which looked a little forced, apparently waiting for him to say something.

"Good morning Malfoy. Do you want something?"

"I was wondering, would be interested in studying with me? Surely you must be getting tired of having two fangirls following you around."

That was the wrong answer. He knew it was not wise to make himself an enemy that early in the year, but still, if nobody took the time to confront him he'd remain an idiot until the end of times. "I was wondering the same thing about your bootlickers. Either you truly enjoy having two minions following you around or you must be getting really tired of them, as you said. Just for the record, those girls are my friends, not fangirls."

Draco was shell shocked; the conversation was not turning out as it should. Crabbe and Goyle, when they finally understood his words, looked affronted and started flexing their arms. The next second Harry's wand was in his hand, aiming at them from under the table so the professors wouldn't notice.

"I'll tell you one thing. People who are stupid enough to threaten me shouldn't be allowed to breed, and I know just the curse for that. Think twice before acting rashly." It was bluff, and they bought it. He pocketed his wand again, though he kept his hand close to it, and turned toward Draco.

"You will have to learn to show respect to my friends before you earn mine. Now back off before I get tired of you." The adrenaline was adding a manic glint to his eyes and he could feel his wand hand shaking with excitement. The problem was that he was fairly sure that he couldn't hold his own against three opponents, especially since two of them would use their fists first.

Draco assessed the impudent bastard in front of him. Potter was usually confident, though now he looked downright mad. Even if Crabbe and Goyle were on his side and always looking for a fight, something in those green eyes told Draco that there would be no hesitation from him, and getting cursed in front of the whole school never was high on his priority list. Their verbal sparring had drawn more attention than he'd have liked, and that only left him one option: leave with dignity.

"It seems you're not worth my time, Potter. One day though, you'll understand your mistake."

With those words, he flapped his cloak around him and left. Whatever Malfoy had tried to achieve with that, Harry wasn't sure, but it was ridiculous and only added to his victorious smirk. When he sat back down, and he couldn't remember at which point he'd started standing, a look around him showed everyone staring at him. Deciding to finish this unfortunate encounter with a flourish, Harry steeled his glare and virtually showed his teeth. It was fun to see all these people cowering, he could definitely get used to it.

Daphne's hand on his shoulder snapped him back to reality. Apparently the last minute had finished waking her up and he shot her a small comforting smile. He heard Tracey behind him, with a laugh in her voice: "You said the whole 'don't screw with my friends' thing was if you were sorted in Hufflepuff, Harry. Still, thank you."

Daphne also voiced her thanks, and fortunately the rest of the meal went smoother. Soon they were once again in the library, and the Gryffindor bookworm was _still there_, because Harry figured one day he might actually have to curse someone, and his most offensive spell as to date was the tripping jinx, _Flipendo_. He checked out the Basic Dueling Spells, a manual that seemed to correspond to second year level, and they left for an unused classroom close to the forbidden third floor corridor. What with the Headmaster promising a painful death to anyone who approached it, the entire area was pretty much abandoned. After a couple hours all three had pretty much mastered the basic cutting spell _Diffindo_, the - quite painful - boil curse _Furnunculus_, the disarming spell _Expelliarmus_ and finally the basic shield _Protego_, though they still had trouble maintaining the last one.

Harry was quite proud when he noticed that he picked up the spells faster than Daphne and Tracey. He also found it enjoyable to help them when they had trouble with the pronunciation or wand movements. All three agreed to try and learn new spells more often, they had fun and it was useful.

It wasn't long before his meeting with Dumbledore approached, and he started getting nervous. He certainly hoped he hadn't somehow magically exhausted himself with his friends, which would result in a spoilt session and a disappointed Headmaster. With that in mind, Harry made his way to the old wizard's office. Or rather, he would have if he'd known where it was in that gigantic labyrinth castle of his. So instead, the Boy-Who-Lived found himself looking for the closest staff member, who turned out to be Madam Pomfrey, the Mediwitch. When he neared the door, shouting voices could be heard.

"Merlin knows what you were going to do with _five_ gallons of skin and hair coloring potion!" the first voice, which sounded a lot like McGonagall's, yelled.

"Really, you have to believe us, -

"- it was just a harmless prank!" two similar voices complained. "We just thought golden skin and red hair would bring some warmth at the Slytherin table." One continued. "Of course, we may or may not have let it on the fire for an extra minute; it must have slipped our keen minds!"

Peeking inside, Harry saw the twin redheads, their legs horribly discolored, badly burned, and the skin was a little shredded in places. The transfiguration professor was still yelling at them, sometimes asking at the skies above us all why her life was a permanent trial. Madam Pomfrey was coming back with some ointments and busied herself on the clumsy pranksters, freeing McGonagall in the process. He approached her and, using his nicest voice, asked where the Headmaster's office was. She answered that she knew about his appointment and told him to wait outside the Hospital Wing for her a minute.

Harry obliged, there were some more screams about detentions _with Snape_ ("Since it's his students you targeted, it seems fit that he gets to punish you!"), the twins started crying, whether they were faking or not Harry had no idea, and finally the Gryffindor Head of House arrived. It took her a moment to compose herself and bring a somewhat warmer expression to her face, and with a wave of her hand showed him the way.

"Do you know who were the only students who ever had me screaming more than those two?" she asked.

It was a little abrupt, but he managed to raise a questioning eyebrow at her.

"Your father and his friends Sirius Black, Remus Lupin and, bless his soul, Peter Pettigrew. Those four, thick as thieves, caused me no end of trouble for seven years. Of course they were Gryffindors all the way, which is why I was rather surprised to see you in Slytherin. Even then, you're such a disciplined hard-worker; I swear sometimes even professor Snape has a hard time criticizing you. You really have stirred my curiosity, Harry." She answered. She was apparently expecting an answer – what was he supposed to say? – and after a second she had it.

"I guess no one really bothered to tell me about my parents, so I guess I'm just being myself. My relatives weren't very forthcoming when I would ask about them, and I haven't found myself speaking to anyone who's ever met them since I arrived." Harry hesitantly admitted, or rather half-lied; while it was true he didn't know a thing about his parents, he surely wasn't acting like himself.

McGonagall seemed a little moved by his admission, and maybe even a little angered at the thought of Harry's relatives refusing to tell him about his parents, so there had to be a story there. On a side note, he was definitely content with the staff buying his act and knowing that at least one professor was on his side. She passed the time telling him about his parents and the trouble he'd cause or find himself dragged into at school, and for once Harry didn't have to pretend interest in the conversation.

"Acid Pops."

Before he even had the time to say "Wait, what?", the statue of a gargoyle in front of them moved aside, revealing a spiral staircase. McGonagall told him the Headmaster was waiting for him and left the way they came from. Harry drew a breath and walked up the stairs and, as he prepared to knock on the heavy wooden door that faced him, the Headmaster's voice invited him in. The boy raised an eyebrow, thought _probably magic_, and entered.

Inside, the information load hit his brain and he had to pause to stare for a moment. He didn't care if he looked horribly childish; that office had multiple conversing portraits, scores of instruments that whirled, wheezed, puffed smoke, periodically or randomly flashed weird colors, vibrated, sung compelling tunes, and they were made of silver, gold, unknown metals, wood, one looked like rubber. But that wasn't all of it: a wall was covered with shields and swords that were _undoubtedly_ enchanted in a way or another, a suit of armor in a corner danced when you weren't directly looking at it, and the books! Hundreds of old, no, ancient tomes arranged in ways that only an aged, wise and eccentric wizard would understand. Further reasoning brought him to the conclusion that there was absolutely no way the windows could show what they showed. And yet, they definitely did. There was still no way Harry could take it all at once, so he'd have to find some excuse to come more often. Those trinkets _demanded_ to be studied!

All in all though, the weirdest, most eye-catching element of the entire magical jumble was incontestably Dumbledore himself. His robes canary yellow with somewhat humanoid green and purple silhouettes in motion all over it, hands twirling his fine wand, the tip of his beard resting on top of his desk, eyes twinkling like mad behind half-moon glasses, and a grandfatherly smile turning the whole mix from disturbing to home-like and warm and welcoming and trustworthy, and…

… And that was wrong. This was so, so wrong, Harry wasn't falling for it. There was no damn way in Hades' Hell _anything_ could possibly look half as welcoming at that. Not naturally. For a reason, it didn't even feel like it was because of some enchantment, it was more than just a trick, that man had spent probably over a century perfecting every single detail of his act, and it was no wonder nobody ever took the time to even try and doubt the man.

That was one hell of a Slytherin bastard. But, if that even meant something, Harry swore to himself that he'd _out-Slytherin_ the old man. A more determined expression may have crossed his features, but he wasn't looking at his Headmaster at that instant. He'd been trying to catch that dancing suit of armor red-handed, and had had no luck with that. He shook his head, formulating the first step of his plan: pretend nothing was wrong, but stay alert. He then made a last effort to chase those away from his mind and concentrate on his first purpose here. The wandless magic. Then he turned for the second time toward the nation-wide number one actor.

-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-

The Hogwarts Headmaster smiled a warm smile. He always had a great time watching his students' fascination at his office. It was rejuvenating, really, to see bright awed expressions on their innocent faces. And it was a test at the same time, one that just brought results and good news at that! Half a century before then, when he was the Transfiguration professor, he had brought young Tom Riddle, at the time Hogwarts' top student, to his own office. It hadn't even been that packed with magical oddities, and yet, he'd seen something bad on the student's face. Albus Dumbledore had witnessed the kid who'd become the most feared Dark Lord of the last four centuries look _greedily_ at the magical items. Harry's face was fascinated, awed, and deeply innocent. That he certainly felt he could call good news.

When Harry's eyes met his own, the elder wizard's gaze brushed the surface of the younger one's thoughts. At that point of his life, passive Legilimency couldn't even be helped, it became natural. Of course, he wouldn't dare try more active mind-probing at the moment. Voldemort had left something, somewhere in the boy's mind, and playing tickle-the-Dark-Lord in Harry's head wasn't the safest course of action.

Anyway, Dumbledore picked up a few stray thoughts from the Boy-Who-Lived, but really nothing more than what one could read on his face. It was nearly as if the student was considering him to be a part of the office's trinkets. It was more amusing than insulting; Dumbledore liked to think that he belonged in the realm of Magic. And, if that office wasn't a representation of Magic itself, what was then? Here one could find it all, knowledge, fantasy, and power!

He saw Harry trying to figure out that intriguing armor in the corner. It could be distracting at times but you got used to it doing its best to catch your eye after some time, and, of course, it knew not to play games when the atmosphere was too serious. Finally, the elusive young man turned to face him once again, and his eyes meant business.

"I imagine you must be eager to demonstrate yourself, Harry. If you would follow me, we can get right to it." Dumbledore offered.

After exchanging some more courtesies, they walked the short distance to the hidden passageway behind the suit of armor. Harry seemed amused when his Headmaster imitated the magical curiosity's dance as a password. There was a complete change of ambience there: goodbye trinkets, goodbye jokes, hello experimenting and researching. It was a square and rather large room. It appeared to enlarge itself by half when Harry entered, which had him wonder whether it was just an illusion that you broke by stepping in, or if the room was rather enlarging itself when additional people entered.

A large circle was already traced on the ground, which suggested the place was fit for practicing rituals. Only three of the four walls were made of stone, the back one was… disconcerting. It looked like thick homogeneous mist, but still rather solid. To answer Harry's questioning look, the Headmaster cast a quick spell at it and they watched as it appeared to absorb the spell, muffling its energy in a second. Obviously one could use it as a training range.

But the old man didn't show more interest for that room. A door had appeared on the left wall and they walked through it to find themselves in a dojo-like environment. It was certainly more relaxing, and objects of varying sizes and masses were organized on the ground.

"Harry" he said to catch his student's attention. "This room is enchanted to prevent the ambient magic of Hogwarts to interfere with my observations. I will ask you to relax for a few minutes. Then, I'll tell you what to do."

They both sat on cushions to avoid the hard wooden floor and remained silent for the following minutes. When Harry opened his eyes again, he said in a whisper "I'm ready."

Dumbledore described the first exercise: Harry was simply to try and levitate different objects. The differences were found in the sizes, weights, and magical properties of the objects. Among the list were feathers, small stones, materials like wood or plastic, sand, water, and finally a small strip of dragon hide, which would allow them to see if the natural magical resistance provided by the hide would hinder Harry's magic. For half an hour, Dumbledore observed in silence as his student experimented with his abilities. Of course he was watching with more than just his eyes; he could feel the magic emanating from the boy, identify and analyze his energy. His magic was pure, no trace of Voldemort's. That could lead to the conclusion that Harry's wandless abilities are truly his and not a _gift_ of sorts from the Dark Lord.

That was very good: if the two personalities weren't fighting to dominate his mind, and instead Riddle only surfaced at particular moments, then Harry shouldn't be excessively corrupted. Of course, that was only a guess. Then, still watching Harry levitating a small quantity of sand, he wondered to what extent was harry aware of the darkness that inhabited him. Surely he must have noticed by then, and what conclusions had he reached? That was a talk for another time.

Truly, it was fascinating to watch the grains of sand flowing around each others, following the movements of Harry's power. He kept watching for a few more minutes, and his student still wasn't showing any signs of strain. He could definitely achieve more; all he lacked was, maybe, the confidence that must support great power. Harry, having gotten used to practicing on paper, didn't give himself the means to unlock his full potential. Finally, it was time for the dragon hide.

Judging from what he'd seen, he would fail to lift it. The way his magic had operated from the beginning was simple for a keen observer like Dumbledore; Harry enchanted the objects to isolate them from the influence of gravity, then he would only slightly push it upwards or actually in any direction. Dragonhide's most prized property was its resistance to magical effects, which meant that it took superior power to enchant it. Harry didn't push enough energy in his levitations to overcome that resistance.

His predictions were verified when, after a minute of focus, the last item hadn't even twitched. Seeing the boy's focus troubled by frustration, the Headmaster spoke up.

"You can stop trying, Harry."

Harry looked up at him, a touch of anger in his eyes, and asked "Why doesn't it react?"

"I never expected you to do it. Actually, I would have been most surprised had you done it.", he answered, his voice as soft as ever.

As Harry pondered those words, disappointment made its way in his thoughts, but soon it was swiped away, a wave of anger, resentment, and even hate, rising in its wake. Harry's eyes hardened and, his look burdened with contempt, he glared at the old man in front of him. Dumbledore barely had the time to be surprised before that eleven year old student turned back to his new victim: the dragonhide.

Apparently looks can kill because the strip of magical leather flew in the air between bursting in flames. It all lasted a second, and a foreign thought, not in his own voice, rang in Harry's mind: _I'll show you. You won't underestimate me again_. Suddenly Harry gave a small shake of his head.

Innocent eyes found their way back to the old wizard's shocked gaze. There was surprise, curiosity, and a hint of disgust, _self_-disgust, in those child's green orbs. The Headmaster gathered his thoughts: that had been Riddle's magic. When doubting Harry's capacities, it was Tom that felt insulted. Yes, the one thing Tom craved was recognition of his power, and his strongest insecurity, the one that could instantly push him on the defensive, was to be looked upon as an incapable child. He'd always known his power, and his drive to prove himself overcame Harry's mind.

Dumbledore could only guess that his own presence had been a factor; he was indeed tied to Voldemort's eternal insecurity as one of his old professors, a constant reminder of his weaker youth. An instant later it had all been gone, just like at Ollivander's. That one incident had arguably been provoked by Fawkes' feather, the link between the Boy-Who-Lived's and the Dark Lord's wands. He nearly chuckled when he thought _Sunday brought few answers, but many questions_.

Harry was obviously waiting for him to say something, anything to explain that display of power, so he spoke up:

"That was interesting. Harry, correct me if I'm mistaken, but you didn't feel like yourself for a second, and now you are wondering what is wrong with you, right? Well, there is no reason to worry." Hearing no answer, he continued.

"To solve this mystery, I'd say we must go back a decade ago. You see, on that fateful night, Voldemort was not simply killed by his failed spell. Every element of his being was torn to shreds, and something was caught in your scar. If my logic does not fail me, it must have been a fragment of his soul, and it has cohabitated with your own mind, only revealing itself in particular cases."

Harry was hanging on his every word, unaware of his fingers slowly brushing his marked forehead. They talked for well over an hour that afternoon, trying to understand his weird connection to Voldemort. Albus Dumbledore didn't reveal all he knew about the situation; he had some other theories, and in particular he didn't tell the boy that this was probably the proof that Voldemort still lived, for as long as part of his soul inhabited the world of the living, then he couldn't never truly die.

After reassuring him once again, he dismissed Harry ("I am starving and exhausted, we should continue this next week.") and they both went on to their respective businesses. Unfortunately for Harry, the world didn't seem keen on letting him enjoy a quiet evening, for after turning to another corridor, two voices interrupted his walking.

"Fancy seeing you here, Harry." The first voice expressed.

"Why yes, dear brother, one would certainly believe a first year to be enjoying dinner with his friends at such a late hour." The second one answered.

"Where are you, who are you and what do you want?" Harry said in a cold voice, his wand out.

At that moment the infamous redhead Weasley twins appeared from behind a tapestry, identical broad smiles traced on their faces. They weren't holding their wands so Harry pointed his own toward the floor, and he motioned for them to speak first.

"We have a problem, you see." Number one said.

"Yes we do." Number two concurred.

"That little problem is blonde and probably prances around the place like he owns it as we speak." Number one developed.

"Too true." Number two added.

"What we want, is for you to be cooperative and sprinkle this", he produced a small vial, "on Malfoy's bed and pillow." He finished.

Harry pondered this for a moment. "Is it dangerous?" he asked, and both shook their heads negatively. A few more moments and he gave them a predatory smile:

"I may have been told that you two would be valuable allies. I'll do it if you agree to do me a favor later."

At their smiles, he added "Now of course, the question is whether you want this to end with your favor, or if you'd rather make this a more lasting alliance. You have until next time to decide." With those words, he snatched the vial from one of the two's hand and walked to dinner.

Of course, the momentary good mood was troubled when he recalled the implications of Dumbledore's revelations. There was a fragment of Voldemort in his mind. He was dangerous to be around, but with any luck the headmaster would know what to do about it. It was obvious that the old wizard deemed it safe for him to spend one more week as if nothing had happened, although Harry wouldn't put it past him to have the teachers keep a close eye on him.

Harry was, to say the least, distracted when he made his way to the Slytherin table. Daphne and Tracey had already started eating their dinner and decided to wait until they were in a more private place before trying to find out about his afternoon. Thus, they ate in relative silence, both girls occasionally sending a worried glance in Harry's direction. When they had finished, they made their way to the dungeons but, Tracey had apparently lost her patience because she pulled her friends in an unused classroom and had Harry put up his privacy ward.

Harry didn't know what to tell her. He started telling his tale chronologically, thinking he'd decide whether to tell them or not about the hard parts when they came up. He told them to keep their guards up when dealing with Dumbledore and to beware of his grandfatherly act, though to this point nothing could have led him to believe that the old man was evil. There was just something deep inside him that wouldn't trust him for some reason. Was that part the fragment of Voldemort's soul? Dumbledore had said that he hadn't been too heavily influenced by its presence, still he decided to always make sure what he was thinking came from his own mind.

In the end, he settled on admitting that when he got angry or lost control, something darker and stronger emerged from him, though it seemed to focus on protecting Harry. He wondered if _it _instinctively understood that if Harry was to die then it would be gone too, and decided it made sense. And then there hadn't been any protecting going on with the dragonhide, only a desire to prove himself, which meant that sometimes _it_ could act for more personal reasons, through Harry. He shuddered when he thought about what it would entail if the Voldemort in him decided that one of Harry's friends would be better off dead.

In the end, the girls were satisfied with his half-truth and seemed relatively unworried by the revelation. _Of course_, he thought, _they don't know the entire story_. He also left out what happened with the Weasley twins, figuring out it wasn't a big deal. When they reached the dorms, Harry saw he was the first one of the boys there and, after seeing the unknown substance he'd sprinkled on Draco's bed turn invisible, went to sleep early.

-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-

Thanks for reading and reviewing, and please, do _not_ hesitate to PM me for any questions/suggestions!


	4. Chapter 4

As he exited the shower and returned to the dormitories to get dressed, Harry gave a sideways look at Draco's bed. His curtains were opened just wide enough for him to peek inside, and he was a little disappointed by the fact that nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Either the twins' stuff hadn't worked, or there was more to it than met the eye. With a one last yawn, he got back to preparing for his day.

It wasn't before late morning that Harry's occasional discrete glances toward Draco paid off. One had to know there was a difference to spot it. His skin was somewhat darker, as if he'd finally decided to tan a little. That, something about his voice though what exactly he had no idea, and his hair was getting slightly untidy earlier than usual. At lunch, his suspicions were confirmed. The ponce's skin was definitely not quite as pale as it used to be, his hair was messier than he'd normally tolerate in public, and he had an accent. Only Pansy Parkinson, is personal stalker, seemed to have caught any of those things at that point.

During the afternoon classes, Draco simply didn't stop trying to straighten up his hair, with absolutely no results, which irritated him greatly, thus making him red with anger. As a result, his tanned complexion was even more noticeable and his accent, an American accent, became rather obvious. It was a highly angered Slytherin Prince-wannabe who made his way to the Slytherin table that evening.

And yet the worst hadn't come. When he walked through the crowd that was going for the Great Hall, one of the twins sneakily cast a single charm at him. The poor child didn't notice that, until he was in the open, in the middle of the hall, his transformation into an American redneck was complete. He sported a deep tan, his hair ruffled, dirty, with small weeds protruding. His clothes were transfigured into a dirty grey shirt and suspender pants. When he tried to exclaim "I demand an explanation to this madness! My father will hear about it!" what everyone heard was more along the lines of "Waddahell? Wait 'til I tell Daddy!" and even then the accent made it hard to decipher.

That night, Harry decided not to antagonize the twins, and thanked the Higher Powers that they were on his side.

-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-

Wednesday arrived and the flying lessons along with it. The Gryffindors were also present, and Harry cringed a little when everyone mocked the quiet boy he'd seen before because he couldn't get his broom to shoot up. He kept muttering "Up, up, up…" but there was neither authority nor strength in his voice, just fear and embarrassment and self-doubt. Harry had no trouble ordering his broom and when Madam Hooch, the flying instructor, had them take off, slight anticipation made way to pure bliss.

The school brooms were slow, the turns were sloppy and the acceleration jerky, but still; Harry was _flying_, and his problems were gone. He didn't find it in himself to worry about Voldemort's soul, or spending his seven year long schooling between a mask, hiding his true self. No, he was flying, and it made up for all his problems and troubles. Only a scream followed by a loud crack broke him out of his thoughts, and he returned to the ground to see the shy Gryffindor crying and cradling his wrist.

Hooch took him to the Hospital Wing after making it clear that anyone who dared touching their broom in her absence would face severe consequences. She'd mentioned expulsion from Hogwarts but Harry doubted she'd back up that claim. Of course, Draco, after being thoroughly humiliated and having discovered no culprit two days before, decided that then would be the perfect time to bully someone else, so he bragged about finding Neville's Remembrall, a magical glass sphere designed to glow red if you've forgotten something.

It was an expensive item, so when Draco sarcastically mentioned leaving it somewhere Neville would find it, like a tree in the Forbidden Forest, Harry couldn't help but compare to theft. Except that instead of spending what you steal, you waste it, which only an idiot would do.

"Would you actually lower yourself to stealing from another? I thought your name was supposed to mean you aren't a commoner." Harry spoke up, drawing stares. He was keeping his expression neutral, slightly bored.

"Come on, I'm borrowing from the fat boy, not stealing. Are you defending the Gryffindor?" he retorted, on the defensive.

"Well then, it's vandalism, which is to say, even worse. To answer your question, no I'm not; I'm just wondering when you made dragging the Malfoy name through the mud your life goal." Harry taunted, hoping Draco would do something stupid.

And he did; he mounted his broom and after shooting up a few feet, threw the Remembrall as high as he could. By the time the sphere left his hand, Harry had silently ordered his broom up, for extra effect, and confidently sped up toward the object of their fight. Even when flying at maximum speed and trying to catch something that was quickly falling, he found it natural and perhaps even easy to accelerate toward the ground, grab the Remembrall and pull up at the last possible moment. Struggling to keep his face neutral, as if he'd just gone for a stroll on the grounds, he calmly walked past Malfoy, ignoring him with his broom in one hand and the sphere in the other.

"Potter! What do you think you are doing?" it was McGonagall who had just arrived, and she sounded pissed.

Thinking on his feet, he went for the honest I-know-I've-done-nothing-wrong look and answered "I was protecting my schoolmate's possessions, professor. Malfoy here found it fit to try and break Neville's expensive Remembrall. I think he was jealous because he'd already tried stealing it at breakfast this morning." It was pretty much the truth, and he was sincerely glad she hadn't cut him off in the middle of a sentence, because she was still fuming.

"Twenty points from Slytherin, for bullying and reckless flying. And Potter, expect detentions, you could have broken your neck!" she spat out.

"I'm not trying to escape my punishments but I still think I was perfectly in control of that broom. Anyway, as long as Neville gets his Remembrall back, I won't have done this for nothing." He replied looking resigned.

Apparently he had made a good first impression on her because even if she hadn't actually calmed down, in the end he didn't get his detention and she gave him five points for looking past House borders. Also, after dinner, a prefect brought him a note from Professor Snape.

_Mr. Potter,_

_ My colleagues have been talking about your performance on a broom all night. Meet me at the Quidditch Pitch thirty minutes before curfew._

_ Professor Snape, Potions Master and Head of Slytherin_

-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-

When Harry unwrapped his new Nimbus 2000 in the Slytherin Common Room the following evening, Draco lost it.

"You're useless and stupid Potter! First you lose House Points by defending Gryffindors and then you get yourself a broom? First years are not allowed their own brooms, Snape will hear about it and when my father does, get ready for expulsion!"

Harry simply waited for him to finish his rant, looking him in the eye with obvious disdain. He then went back to admiring his broom, and distractedly answered "The broom is from professor Snape. He gave it to me because I'm the new Seeker for the team. Youngest Seeker in a century, I've heard. Now, I'd suggest leaving and crying yourself to sleep while hoping you'll be less pathetic tomorrow, though of course it is unlikely."

"You've gone too far Potter! I challenge you to a duel in the Trophy Room tonight at midnight, and then we'll see who's the better wizard." He huffed, and left, probably to follow Harry's previous suggestion.

Harry turned to Tracey and Daphne. The former offered "I'll be your second, Harry, if it's alright with Daphne." and their friend approved though she did mention insisting to pass by to watch Draco getting his ass served by Harry.

At half past eleven, Harry rose from his bed, picked up his wand and walked over to Draco's bed. What he saw, he couldn't believe. The legendary arrogant blond ponce was asleep. An _Aguamenti_ later and Draco woke up in a bad mood. When he tried to threaten his fellow Slytherin Harry simply pointed out the time, told him to get his second and join him in the Trophy Room: the duel was his idea, and he wouldn't avoid it.

Crabbe sleepily followed his friend/master, the Boy-Who-Lived and the latter's two female friends whose names he couldn't remember to the main part of the castle. Malfoy had been increasingly nervous during their walk and the others minus his minion quickly figured out why. As a result, when Draco tried to order Crabbe to charge a girl while he stunned the two others, it went wrong. First of all, his bootlicker had to process the order for a full second before attempting to pounce on Daphne, and even then his mission was highly jeopardized by the leg-locker that hit him.

At the same time, Harry dodged Draco's spell while Tracey fired her own at the blond idiot, who surprisingly avoided it, though his movement caused him to walk straight into Harry's wand. Five minutes later Filch, the caretaker, and his cat Mrs. Norris found an interesting display in the trophy Room, which they investigated after an anonymous tip. Two Slytherin students were lying on the ground a few feet away from each other, and from what he gathered they had simultaneously stunned each other while dueling, exactly what his anonymous contact had announced.

-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-

Halloween arrived seven weeks later. The weather had gone surprisingly cold surprisingly fast in the previous week but it did nothing to deter Marcus Flint, the Slytherin Quidditch Captain, from having them practice three times a week, sometimes under the snow, after dark, or both. Harry certainly wasn't bored, between the practices, classes, his irregular training sessions with Tracey and Daphne, the Sundays with Dumbledore and the occasional wandless practice sessions with Flitwick. The Headmaster had, once he had thoroughly investigated his student's wandless magic, decided to start training Harry in the mind arts, and Occlumency in particular.

Harry had badly reacted to the fact that people could read minds using Legilimency and it wasn't even common knowledge. It didn't make any sense to him; absolutely everyone should be trained in Occlumency, the only defense against Legilimency, though for some reason that hadn't crossed their minds. _How natural to have mandatory astronomy classes_, he sarcastically thought, _while leaving your very mind unprotected_.

Still, since Harry had learned things that he may want to keep secret, namely the fact that he had a little Voldemort in his head, Dumbledore had finally deemed it necessary to teach him Occlumency. He also entertained the theory that it may help stifling Voldemort's soul's influence. After three lessons, all he'd learned was that Headache Relief potions tasted sour. All in all, Harry was rather satisfied with his first two months at Hogwarts, even Draco had pretty much stopped bothering him after he was discovered along with Crabbe in the Trophy Room by Filch, which resulted in a nice week in detention.

But there was a downside to everything. That evening everyone would celebrate Halloween as the day Voldemort was defeated by the Boy-Who-Lived, while the one whose survival they'd celebrate would try to take some time to think about his parents' sacrifice. Harry had already asked some of his professors, the Headmaster, and Hagrid for stories of his parents' time at Hogwarts. They'd all been extremely happy to help him, and he realized the brutish-looking half-giant was in fact a rather nice person to talk to. Maybe he'd pay him a visit from time to time.

When Harry told his two best friends that he wouldn't attend the main feast they insisted on staying with him. They said "It's not because that bastard orphaned you that you have to be alone. We're your friends and we'll always support you." It was hard for him not to cry and he hugged them both; their words meant a lot to him.

As a result, come dinner time, they settled in the classroom that they'd claimed as theirs for their personal training. Daphne called her family's house elf Harpy and had her bring them food and butterbeer. They had a nice evening in each others' companies, and Harry was thankful to have such good friends by his side. They were adamant that they wouldn't have had such a nice time outside the privacy of their classroom, but it seemed Fate had other plans for them that night.

A foul smell invaded their private party shortly before they would have left. They were all nearly retching and wondering what was going on when a grunt was heard behind the door. Considering the fact that there was a privacy ward between them and outside said door, they understood it must have been quite a loud grunt. They waited another five seconds, adrenalin flooding their blood, before the door was brutally smashed in.

Acting on instinct, Harry pushed his friends behind a table and motioned them to stay silent. Peering over the edge of the table, he saw a giant humanoid club-wielding creature walk in. Once he'd managed to get past the shock of being assaulted by a creature straight from hell, he whispered to Daphne and Tracey.

"When I tell you to run, don't hesitate. Run until you collapse or find a professor. I'll distract him and then escape."

He had to cover Tracey's mouth when she attempted to protest ("I won't leave you alo- humph") and give her a stern glare. "I'll be all right" Harry tried to reassure her.

The troll had walked a few more steps in and, after examining empty butterbeer bottles and half-filled plates, had apparently caught the students' smells and decided they'd be a nice dinner. Harry levitated a table on the side of the troll opposite the door and nudged the beast's shoulder with it to catch its attention. At his command the girls ran through the door and, when the troll tried to follow them without taking the time to duck, it got stuck in the doorframe, effectively trapping Harry inside. Before it could reach the corridor, the boy took a deep breath and cast a _Confringo_, the blasting hex, aiming for the back of the head.

It was one of the spells that the girls hadn't mastered yet, as it demanded power eleven year olds rarely possessed. Even Harry found it particularly hard to cast and knew that he wouldn't manage a second one in the middle of a fight. The troll's head jerked forward with a loud bang, some of its skin destroyed in a small cloud of blood. It turned around, looking nearly as confused as it was angry, and rushed forwards to smash the puny human who attacked him.

Since few spells could stop a charging adult troll and Harry knew none of them, he opted for a run-and-pray strategy. Each table that it smashed seemed to slow the beast down, and Harry managed running around him before getting a club in the face. The troll couldn't turn around as fast as a human would and Harry truly believed he'd get to the door in time. Of course, he reconsidered when the club came smashing down between the door and himself. A second later the creature was once again blocking his only exit, apart from the third-floor windows of course, and Harry started hurling spells as fast as he could toward it.

He started with weak cutting, puncturing and bludgeoning hexes, all of them harmless against a troll's thick hide. Then, when the club was about to be brought down on him and end his short life in a painful manner, a severing spell crippled the troll's wrist. The club fell down with a resounding _CLOP_ on the thing's rather small head.

But it wasn't over. The impact left the troll unarmed and dazed, but in a berserk-like state. As soon as it had recovered from the hit, it pounced on Harry, intent on crushing him with his weight and his good hand. Without taking the time to notice that his last spell had been wordless and cast solely on instinct, he turned his shower of spells into a magical torrential downpour. Each spell was stronger, darker, and more obscure than the previous one, until three consecutive overpowered lightning javelins shot out of his wand and struck the troll in its stomach, chest and head, the last one finishing it off.

Harry was beyond exhausted, and his perception of the outside world was cloudy. He started feeling like he was seeing through someone else's eyes, and when Dumbledore appeared at the door, instinct dictated him to raise his wand and kill the old man. His common sense made him hesitate though, and Dumbledore disarmed him before he fell unconscious.

-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-

Harry woke up, feeling weaker than ever before, in the Hospital Wing. He could hear distant voices and his vision was blurred when he opened his eyes. When he tried to reach for his wand, something was wrong, he couldn't move. It took him a few seconds to realize he was physically and magically bound: shackles and a _Petrificus Totalus_. Whatever was happening, it wasn't good for him. Since he could see his wand in the corner of his field of vision, he attempted to levitate it to his hand.

Nothing happened, which was unexpected since he'd made significant progress in wandless magic with Flitwick. The previous day he'd actually levitated it to him, just for the kick of it, but this time nothing happened. Harry was glad when the voices got closer to him because with the body-bind and without his magic, he couldn't do anything to attract people's attention.

"Look, he's woken up! Wands out!" a deep voice instructed.

Harry saw four silhouettes gather above him, around his bed. He recognized Dumbledore and his Defense Against the Dark Arts professor Quirinus Quirrell, but he didn't know the other two. The one with the deep voice had graying hair and a battle hardened look. The other one was the most heavily scarred man Harry had ever seen, and one of his eyes was obviously enchanted: it was an electrical blue and kept spinning in random directions. Both strangers were wearing Auror robes. Dumbledore made a small wave with his wand to unlock Harry's jaw and mouth. Immediately he asked "What is happening? Let me go!" but they seemed skeptical. The Headmaster sat on his bed and, looking him in the eyes, explained the situation.

"When I arrived in the classroom, you were using Dark Magic like it was a second nature. Harry, when I looked in your eyes, they were red. I believe that when you found yourself in a situation of lethal danger, the fragment of Voldemort stuck in your scar possessed you to eliminate the threat. I was forced to disarm and stun you when you raised your wand on me. I am sorry but I was forced to momentarily bind your magic, as Voldemort's wandless abilities would have been strong enough for him to free himself."

Harry took a moment to process this. He'd been nearly fully possessed by the Dark Lord in him, and now he was being investigated by the Aurors with his magic restricted. Happy Halloween.

"Of course, we have very few ways to make sure you're not still under Voldemort's control." He continued. "This is why we'll ask you to swallow a few drops of Veritaserum while I inspect your mind using Legilimency. Do we have your consent?"

He nodded, and after fifteen minutes of questioning and mind-probing, they released him. When he asked about the bind on his magic, Dumbledore informed him that he would be progressively released from it. "Suddenly lifting the bind has a tendency to cause an undesired backlash with especially powerful teenagers. It would be more prudent to spread it over the week-end."

He then excused himself and told him that he had to leave to attend other duties. Visitors would be accepted but he'd have to remain under the watchful eye of professor Quirrell, and Aurors Moody and Shacklebolt, Moody being the scarily scarred one. He finally lifted the full-body-bind and unfastened his restraints before leaving.

His first visitors were predictably Daphne and Tracey, who were both scared, grateful, and angry at his fighting a grown mountain troll on his own. He tried to explain that he had tried to escape but the damn thing kept blocking the doorway and that anyway he'd won, but he still ended up with two crying witches hugging him and hitting his chest.

After a few minutes Madam Pomfrey had them leave so he could get some rest, and Harry ended up alone with his three guards. Moody was keeping his sane eye towards him at all times while the mad one kept spinning like it was drunk, Shacklebolt had a stern but reassuring The-situation-is-under-control look, and Quirrell was… different.

Quirrell was known as the most useless teacher of the faculty. He had apparently returned from a trip to Albania before the year started and had become fearful and annoyingly nervous. His stutter was unbearable and made his lessons true psychological torture, his story of how he'd come to acquire his turban was questionable at best, and he kept twitching like a fly was trying to get in his eye. That was not what he saw. The man he saw at that moment had a calculating glint in his intense gaze.

The twitching was also gone, but the worst part was deep into his eyes. What Harry saw there was familiar; it was a presence he knew. It was like looking at yourself through someone else's eyes, and at the same time it was like looking at someone else. Harry thought he had a headache because of his weird and complicated probably-fatigue-induced thoughts until he realized the pain came from his scar. He just asked Pomfrey, who was close by, for a Headache Relief potion and decided not to draw any conclusions before he got a full night of sleep.

The following day was interesting. Quirrell had returned to his usual twitchy self, and the rumors that Harry had single-handedly defeated the previous night's troll without a scratch were spreading at the usual speed of the Hogwarts rumor mill. As a result everyone was staring at him in awe and all he could do was keep up his neutral appearance. In truth, he was still largely freaked out by the fact that he'd been possessed just the night before, by Voldemort no less, and the fact that the bastard was still somewhere in his head was not welcome either.

He wouldn't be able to use magic in the following days, so of course being possessed again wasn't a threat at the moment. Of course, they couldn't let it slip to the other students that he was momentarily a squib; some of them held grudges and it wouldn't do to have them attack him on sight. To keep it secret Dumbledore had told the professors to keep their lessons purely theoretical for the day.

One thing Harry noticed was that his friends seemed to be getting annoyed around the end of the day. Right when their last lesson was over, the both of them pulled him away from his current direction and dragged him to another empty classroom, their previous one being now out of bounds. Troll stench and massive damage, both from a giant club and dark explosive spells, had motivated the professors to lock the room. Of course, some students had managed to take a few pictures of the battleground before it was sealed, and whoever took them made a small fortune from the pictures.

Once they had put up all the privacy charms and wards they'd learned over their two months at Hogwarts, Daphne started talking.

"Harry, when we ran to get the professors, at first we didn't look where we went." She announced.

"When we arrived at the end of a corridor and found a locked door, I unlocked it with _Alohomora_ without wondering why it was locked in the first place. You have no idea what we found in there." Tracey continued.

"It was the Forbidden Corridor, right?" Harry asked.

"Yeah and there must be something very valuable in there because there was a trapdoor on the floor, and on the trapdoor, there was a giant three-headed dog: a Cerberus." Daphne finished.

There was an awkward silence. Harry wanted to see the beast for himself, but another part of him just told him to stop being stupid for a second. In the same night, he'd battled an adult mountain Troll and the girls had found a Cerberus. Something was definitely wrong with this school.

"I wonder if all Halloweens are like that here." He mentioned.

-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-

That evening, on Saturday afternoon and finally Sunday morning he was called to Dumbledore's office so he could progressively lift the bind on his magic. Harry always felt weird after these rituals, somewhere between buzzing with magic and tremendously sleepy. To Harry's surprise, he got at lunch on Sunday a note telling him to go _once again_ to the Headmaster's office. There was something weird about being spending half his time there, and the old man had said that his magic was still too unsteady and had therefore cancelled this day's Occlumency practice.

The Hogwarts Headmaster was patiently waiting in his redecorated office. Seeing it as it was fifty years before, when he was just the Transfiguration professor and Tom Riddle was just another student, brought back memories of better times. Now that he thought about it, Riddle had probably already started going dark before the end of his first year. With a sigh, he hid the ritual circle traced on the ground and sat back in his chair.

His student arrived a few minutes later, and had a surprised look on his face at the changes in the office. Not giving him a chance to speak, he started talking:

"Tom, I know what happened with Miss Brocklehurst's cat. Why did you kill it?"

The look in his Headmaster's eyes was unusual. Instead of grandfatherly, it was reprimanding and demanding. Still, he couldn't make sense of what he was talking about. His confusion gave the older wizard the time he needed to continue speaking:

"You need to stop this right now, Tom. If you continue bullying or brutalizing your classmates, there will be consequences." He said, his voice stern.

Harry was troubled by those words. Without really knowing why, he stammered "They'll... they'll never know…" and Dumbledore didn't stop:

"One day I'll prove your actions in this school, Tom, and I suspect you do not wish to be sent back to your old orphanage." This time there was a threatening tone to his voice.

Harry was more than confused. Something in those words had hurt him, and he deeply resented the Headmaster for that. He got angrier and angrier as memories that were not his surfaced in his mind: memories of an orphanage where they would starve, fight, and never be allowed to find pleasure in anything. It was forbidden. His eyes had closed themselves, and when they opened again, the Headmaster seemed younger; there was more color to his hair and beard. Harry's hands started shaking: he was scared.

"One way or another, I will stop you Tom." Dumbledore concluded, and he drew his wand.

Harry instinctively dodged the first spell, nearly falling down. A part of him wanted to retaliate; the other was scared and agitated. There was something wrong in this situation, but with every passing instant his rage built and he finally acknowledged the man in front of him as a complete enemy.

Tom Riddle drew his wand and started trying to curse his archrival. The old man was good though, and all was either dodged or blocked. He also returned as many spells as he avoided to his opponent. Riddle was surprised by the state of his magic. It was unsettled, like a child's. He had trouble focusing on his spells; energy was lost in the air around him every time he cast anything.

The duel between the leader of the Light and the Dark Lord in a child's body continued for a minute, until Riddle was disarmed. Quickly Dumbledore caught the stick and summoned gold chains from a corner of his office to restrain the possessed Boy-Who-Lived. His eyes were blood red and the air around him throbbed with magical power, but he couldn't break free from the golden chains, and Dumbledore started chanting.

The Headmaster was unbothered by Riddle's death glare; his plan had been successful. A familiar situation, threats only Voldemort could understand, Harry's still turbulent magic, and Riddle had surfaced once again, only to be easily defeated. Satisfied, he continued the ritual, and finished with a stabbing motion of his wand: "Tom Marvolo Riddle, I seal you in a prison of gold!"

With those words, the chains started spinning around Harry's body before penetrating his scar. All ten meters seemed to rush in his head and as they did so, his eyes slowly returned to their normal emerald green, though his pupils were circled by a faint golden ring. His scar too had taken the color of gold. He blinked before falling down.

Dumbledore cushioned his fall, used a glamour charm to hide the physical changes brought by the ritual, and sadly whispered "Obliviate."

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Hope you liked it, thanks for reading, please review, and expect the next chapter around next week-end!

Also, do _not_ hesitate to PM me for any questions/suggestions!


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Just to answer two guests' questions, 1: When I ask for suggestions, it's a way to stay open-minded; then again, it's not only for plot suggestions, a certain reviewer has been more than helpful with his tips and advice on how to improve my work. 2: I plan on covering at least a few years of Hogwarts education so don't expect Harry to find true love in the first years, there will be different pairings that may or may not evolve. Now, on with the story!

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Harry decided to pause in his Friday night reading so he put his book face down on the table in front of him and sat back in his library chair. Those were the best chairs in the castle, and he wondered why the furniture of his Common Room had to be ninety percent stone, cold and sinister. He'd really have liked to know what the other Houses' Common Rooms looked like.

For some reason, he couldn't focus on his reading. Someone had told him that the number one rule of Slytherin was to be aware of your surroundings, of the people around you, and of what they were plotting. Another one said that the number one rule was that multi-layered plots tend to fail. In fact, everyone had his or her number one Slytherin rule, but Harry liked the « be aware » one.

Looking around the Library, the first people he saw were the usual, Daph and Tracey. He'd taken to calling the blonde by her nickname because she honestly looked like she didn't care, whereas Tracey had demonstrated some interesting spell work when he'd attempted to call her « Trace ».

The two girls were his best friends and not without reason. They'd walked into Hogwarts, and in Slytherin, together, and since then they'd only been helpful toward each others. It was only among them that they didn't keep any secrets, that they were allowed to leave their coldness at the door to have honest and warming feelings. Every time one of the three heard something, an interesting new rumor or blackmail material, the two others would hear of it: that was part of their success in the snake pit.

Of course, "success" didn't mean that they'd been crowned Emperors of Slytherin. It meant that they weren't targets. That the day it boiled down to "eat, or be eaten", they'd be the hunters and never the preys. Except when they were confronted to older students, who weren't impressed with them so far. Of course, those ones were all convinced that they would one day rule the world so one can wonder what a First Year is supposed to accomplish to gain their respect and consideration. The older Slytherins thankfully had a tendency to keep the younglings out of their plotting though, so he didn't give them any more thought.

Individually, they weren't bad either. Harry was pretty sure he'd manage rather well by himself with the fame and wandless tricks to entertain the crowds, even if the occasional advice from Daph was appreciated. She was quite independent too, and the « Ice Queen » persona was proving effective. She'd isolated herself, but it was a way to protect one's own arse and it was worth another one. The only problem was that she tended to lower her guard as soon as Harry and Tracey were around, she'd warm up too fast for it to be natural, and a few others had understood that she wasn't as cold as she pretended to be. They also knew she'd still hex their personal parts if they took it as their cue to approach her so there wasn't exactly a crowd waiting to become her friends either.

Tracey was something else entirely. She was friendlier with most people even if she had done as she'd announced and ruthlessly sent to the Hospital Wing anyone who dared being less than civil to her. Still, she was naturally the kind of girl everyone likes: friendly if you are, cute, lively and pretty smart. She had a lot more friends than Daphne and Harry, and in all Houses too. One could say she brought out the best in everyone because even in Slytherin people seemed reluctant to do anything that could even remotely hurt her.

Outside of his close circle of friends, everything was different, because the people closest to him who were not his friends were the Slytherins. With the snakes, things seemed to follow a system of allegiance, but not loyalty: there was too much backstabbing going on for that, and besides they weren't Hufflepuffs for a reason. Ignoring the upper years, the two most influential Slytherins were predictably Harry and Malfoy. Draco's circle was composed of the two idiotic bodyguards, his stalker Pansy Parkinson, and the pureblood inbreds Theodore Nott and Millicent Bulstrode, who also happened to be similar in more than one way to a gorilla. They only followed him because of his father's status as the minister's personal advisor and extremely wealthy nobleman.

There was also Blaise Zabini, a dark skinned pureblood. Though he wasn't part of Malfoy's lapdogs, he was still on good terms with the blood supremacists, though his attitude was slightly different: he didn't think he was superior because of his blood; he just thought he was superior. Zabini was isolated but somewhat appreciated in the snake pit, and you always knew he was his own boss.

Harry, being much less involved in the Slytherin political life than Malfoy who would occasionally pronounce a heartfelt racist discriminative and hateful speech in front of the whole Common Room, didn't exactly have a circle, only people who would rather support him than be seen with the blonde ponce. His loose "circle" pretty much contained the rest of the first years who weren't closely related to Death Eaters. Tracey's social skills proved useful as she could generally convince people that Harry was the better choice. What surprised Harry the most was overhearing people who trusted him to become the next Dumbledore, as in the most powerful wizard alive. Those conversations were generally heated debates where one would argue that wandless magic was a sign while the other one would call Harry a fraud and claim he was too stupid to reach the higher levels of society: he helped Longbottom once after all, the half-squib Gryffindor.

Being publicly open-minded hurt his influence in Slytherin, but surely gained him support with the other Houses, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw in particular: he was a hard-working, tolerant and smart boy after all. The Gryffindors seemed to have trouble seeing past the stereotypes that surrounded Slytherin, but he was working on that, and he had Neville and the Weasley twins on his side. When he thought about it, he remembered another Gryff he'd have liked to approach: Library Girl.

All in all, he was the most popular snake with the House of the brave, especially when one came to comparing him to Malfoy. Poor boy had the cunning and subtlety of a wet fart. The youngest Weasley boy and he had been fighting some kind of schoolboy's toned down and more ridiculous blood feud. Nearly every meal saw the Slytherin Ponce (he'd have liked to be called the Slytherin _Prince_, but people generally thought it suited older students or even Harry better) walk over to the Gryffindor table and taunt the red-headed hot-tempered boy, generally starting some kind of fistfight. Once, they had tried to hex each other but their spells had been so ridiculous that the professors hadn't even bothered to punish them. The rest of the time, if Snape got to the incident first then the Gryffindor would lose points and end up in detention while if McGonagall got there first then both Houses lost points and both idiots ended up in detention. It became sad after a few weeks.

Harry was indeed a popular boy in Hogwarts, yet one that most considered unapproachable because he just didn't seem to care about what happened around him. He worked a lot and never hesitated to stand up for others, but the rest of the time he'd look neutral and walk with a confidence that actually looked natural. Once again, that only concerned his year's schoolmates; older students still seemed to think of him as yet another ickle first year.

And then there was the Hogwarts staff. They never let his act influence them even though most did like him as a hard-working respectful student. Snape didn't like him but wouldn't remove points from his own House, and he rarely found a reason good enough, even by his own twisted standards to give him detention, so Harry didn't really care about the greasy-haired dungeon bat. Being nice and well-mannered earned him points with everyone including ghosts and paintings, though Peeves the Poltergeist disliked him for his annoying dodging and escaping skills. If he was such an escape artist, it was thanks to his dead or painted friends in the castle and the twins who'd all shown him various shortcuts and hidden passages.

Harry's relation with the Headmaster was pretty good. Even when he tried to see through the grandfatherly act of the old wizard, he never saw malice or evilness. Sometimes he'd feel like the man would just get high on information and the trust of others. It was probably just a game or a safeguard for him, and Harry had no problem with that: he did the same every day.

Harry thought back on the Sorting Hat's words. Did the thing really possess a secret that could benefit him? If so, would it have told him what it was if he'd been more patient? Or was it just a prank? He still had no idea, but he did remember seeing the tattered old artifact lying on a shelf in the Headmaster's office, so he still could ask him about it one day.

Movement in the corner of his eyes pulled him out of his thoughts; turning around, he saw Library Girl carrying a huge pile of books, huge as in "a month worth of reading", and with the old tomes blocking her view she was obviously going to miss her table and chair and fall down. Harry, acting like the nice guy he was, got up and picked up half of her books with a smile, thus giving her the sense of sight back. She jumped a little at his sudden appearance in front of her but relaxed when she saw him set her books on her table and pull out her chair for her. When she sat down she had a shy smile and a curious frown on her face. He had to notice that, despite the wild hair and buck teeth, she was rather cute. _I have the same hair problem after all and magic can fix the teeth_, he thought, _but let's use some Slytherin charm and get ourselves a new ally_.

"It's nice to see a fellow… avid reader, but how do you plan on going through all _that_?" he started, motioning to the books she'd chosen.

He felt it wasn't a bad way to start a conversation. As far as he knew, the only thing they had in common was the Library, and she didn't seem to have a very active social life so he had to be careful with her.

"I didn't plan on reading everything. It's just that I'm researching something in particular and all of those have at least one relevant chapter." She answered, and he wondered if she only smiled shyly because she was ashamed of her teeth. If so, why not employ magic?

Quickly reading the titles of a few of the books, he saw they were mainly on rare and dangerous magical creatures. More than a few focused on mythological beasts, but when he tried to have a look at the page she had started reading before bringing in "reinforcements" she closed the book and gave him a suspicious look.

"Why are you suddenly interested in my reading? I've seen you a lot here but you never seemed to pay me much attention." She blurted out. She wasn't really angry yet, but she had obviously been researching sensitive subjects if she reacted that way.

"I'm sorry for intruding your privacy, and I also apologize for forgetting my manners. I'm Harry Potter, what's your name?"

"Hermione Granger. My parents were dentists." She'd added the last part like it was a challenge. Was she testing him?

"That's great, I never got to know my real parents but I was raised by Muggles too. You being a Muggleborn explains a lot actually: that's why you spend so much time here; you're trying to discover all you can about the Magical World, right? I tend to do the same actually." He replied confidently, before sitting down at her table.

She seemed happy at his words, and the conversation drifted to the differences between Muggle and Magical customs and societies. Harry was having a good time and she seemed glad to have someone who she could talk to; she really didn't have any friends. The conversation drifted to Hogwarts, and they wondered how an adult Troll, which was not a sneaky beast, had managed getting in what was supposedly the safest place in the country. At that point, he made an offhand comment, saying "And there's more than just a Troll…"

Harry realized he'd lowered his guard and said too much, because she started pressing him for more information, stating that it wouldn't be nice of him to let her in the dark about a possible danger in the school. She was particularly overjoyed when he answered that he wouldn't be a good friend if he did that. He only revealed that it was in the Forbidden Corridor, so it wasn't anything new. Unfortunately for him, she saw through the half-truth and proclaimed he knew more; he admitted with a sigh and the assurance that he wouldn't reveal any more that he knew what was behind the Forbidden door.

"You've seen the dog too?" she asked.

"I'm surprised that you know also know about it. My friends Daphne and Tracey ran into it when I fought the Troll. How did you find it?" he genuinely asked. There was no point hiding the truth anymore.

"Ron Weasley, that idiot, was boasting that he was going to prank the Slytherins and went out after curfew. It turns out he just wanted to put a Dung bomb on the floor in front of the entrance to the Slytherin Common Room and hope someone stepped on it. Not only is that a bad prank, he doesn't even know where the entrance to the Slytherin dungeons is! It's sad when you realize his brothers are famous pranksters. Anyway, I was following him, trying to reason him, when we heard Filch arriving. We ran but he was between us and the Gryffindor Tower, and we somehow ended up discovering the three-headed dog." Damn, she talked fast.

"I knew Weasley was an idiot, but really? Like us Slytherins aren't paranoid enough to avoid that! Wait, is that what you were researching?" he asked her.

"Well yes… It's just that I know someone tried to get past it, so I just thought I'd read up on the thing. Just in case." She revealed, and Harry was surprised by her honesty. Maybe it was because of his House, but he wasn't used to raw honesty. He decided not to ask who she suspected try to get past it and abuse said honesty. He had an idea though.

"I've noticed Professor Snape limping a little today." He simply mentioned, as if he wasn't implying anything.

It worked. She looked like she might panic for a second before settling for a light scowl.

"You sneaky little…" she growled.

His only answer was a broad and innocent smile. When her expression softened up, he kept the small talk going until he told her he'd inform her if he was to discover something about the Cerberus. He then excused himself under the pretense of resting in order to properly crush her House Quidditch team the following day. In reality he was going to spread the news to his friends: someone wanted to get what the Headmaster protected, and it might be Snape.

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Harry knew something was up the moment his broom started shaking. A Nimbus 2000 didn't simply fail; it was the safest and most stable broom on the market, and only strong wizards could bewitch one. Still, the fact that his life depended on how well he could hold on to his broom didn't allow him to search for his would-be assassin. After a minute or so of getting back on the Nimbus only to be thrown back immediately, rinse and repeat, he managed to have a look at his surroundings: two redheads were circling under him, hoping they could catch him if he fell. They abandoned their team to save him, Harry was lucky to have befriended those two; on the other hand, all of the other players had kept playing as if there wasn't a student in lethal danger.

Then he saw it. A small golden glint under him, a passing pair of silver wings; the twins were placed well enough to slow his fall down and he couldn't hold on to his broom any longer. With a deep breath, he let go.

The fall was amazingly fast, and he wondered for an instant exactly how Gryffindor-ish he was looking, pouncing on the snitch in mid-air while trusting members of the _opposing_ team to save his life. Well, he didn't care. A second of free-falling later and the snitch was secured in his right hand while he grabbed one of the twins' broom. Their combined weight and the speed of his fall was too much for the outdated broom and they started losing altitude a little too fast for their safety. It was just a few feet from the ground that the second twin grabbed the back of his brother's broom, and even though the impact hurt like hell, they were alive.

Once the crowd had finished screaming in fear, he sat up and brandished the winged ball in his hand, a smug look on his face.

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Harry genuinely liked Madam Pomfrey, but the witch could occasionally be too motherly for him. He'd hurt himself in his fall so he perfectly understood why she wanted to have a look at him, though spending the night may have been too long.

Between two visits he thought about his broom failing: someone had tried to kill him, and fortunately failed. That person had to be in the Quidditch stadium at the time, and yet you couldn't expect a student to bewitch a Nimbus 2000, from that distance, without getting caught. Maybe a particularly skilled seventh year, most likely one who would excel in Defense Against the Dark Arts or Charms, but it remained an impressive feat. Nobody short of an expert or a genius could have pulled that off, and that meant that if it had been a student, then the culprit would have been obvious, which left either the Hogwarts staff or an intruder.

The Hogwarts wards were supposedly among the best, and anyone who wished to harm a student should have been kept out. Even if the wards had been beaten then surely the Headmaster would have noticed. The only options were therefore either an incredibly skilled, as in 'a potential Dark Lord' level of skill intruder, or a professor. He wasn't exactly friends with Snape, but he probably didn't have any reason to go as far as to kill him. The only shady professor left was Quirrell. He'd decided to keep an eye on the man, but apart from that day in the Infirmary, he'd been the same stuttering idiot.

Of course, it could have been an act: just like Harry, Daphne, Tracey and Dumbledore all used masks to preserve themselves, and since Quirrell pretended to be harmless, that could suggest he was in fact a dangerous man. Harry sincerely hoped he was wrong because if he could fool the Headmaster then he'd have very low chances of exposing him.

When Hermione, or Library Girl, entered to visit him, he remembered someone had been trying to get past the Cerberus: if he ever found any evidence that Quirrell tried to do that, he'd have to be vigilant at all times. Now that he had a lead, he needed to play his cards right; who should he tell? Daphne and Tracey of course, but then again Hermione was already in on the Forbidden Corridor's hairy guardian secret. He could tell her, though she would probably press him for more and he didn't want her to learn his secrets, not yet.

He decided instead to wait until he could be certain of her trustworthiness, and then tell her, because an intelligent and cultured girl like her could most likely help him.

He kept his conversation with her light and Quidditch-oriented though he made sure to stay nice, until she announced she had to go to the Library to prepare a Transfiguration assignment, which didn't exactly surprise him. He himself would prepare the essay with his friends later in the week end, provided Pomfrey didn't insist on keeping him longer than that.

He was surprised to see the large frame of Hagrid enter the Hospital Wing and head for him. He'd gone to the Groundskeeper's hut to have tea with the half-giant once since Halloween and it seemed that he liked Harry very much, probably because he had liked James Potter even more fifteen years ago. Hagrid started by asking him how he felt, and congratulated him on his amazing catch; "Too bad you play for Slytherin!" he added with a chuckle.

It occurred to Harry at some point in the conversation that Hagrid was technically a member of the staff, and besides, he'd also heard that he was quite the expert on dangerous animals; something about a fascination on dragons. He probably knew about the Cerberus, and maybe even why the thing was there in the first place, what it guarded. Then, he was also extremely friendly toward Harry, and he didn't expect to get anything out of McGonagall, Flitwick or Dumbledore, the other professors whom he thought were on good terms with him.

It wouldn't be easy to make him spill his secrets, but he'd have to try. Rumors described him as an alcoholic too; he didn't know to what extent this was the truth but it was a lead. For the moment he settled on trying to sound innocent while verifying what he knew about the man next time they had tea together. Maybe he'd bring something stronger than tea as a gift, and he also considered spiking his drink: it wasn't nice, but he'd take surviving over making more friends any day.

His last visitors were the twins; last because Pomfrey didn't like having half the school disturbing her patients. They'd come to joke about them not owing him one anymore, which he couldn't deny; he actually owed the twins a Life Debt. They had a nice conversation until the Mediwitch approached his bed, at which point they gave him a small bag filled with various magical candy. Once they had left he didn't hesitate before asking Pomfrey to check the food for potential side-effects.

When time came for him to sleep, he realized he was perfectly awake and wouldn't close his eyes for at least another hour, not without potions. After a fascinating minute of staring at the wall, he made up his mind and tried to organize his mind like he did before Hogwarts or with the Headmaster. With a deep breath, he focused inwards and thought about everything that had happened in the previous weeks. He found serenity in the activity and kept reliving the lessons, the near-death experiences, his encounters with students and professors, what he knew about Voldemort's soul fragment, his lessons with Flitwick and Dumbledore.

His introspection evolved chronologically, progressively clearing his mind, and he was able to better remember a few things: mainly details of his perception, or parts of lessons he didn't know he'd forgotten. Harry consciously acknowledged a few things he'd instinctively observed, like some of his friends' quirks: the way Daph would always use precisely the same expression when staring down another student, how Tracey would be slightly different around Zabini, Hermione biting her lower lip when she read.

He learned from these memories. If Harry hadn't been the Boy-Who-Lived and a wandless prodigy, Daphne would have been the most feared and respected Slytherin: she had a better control over her emotions and by observing her he knew he could improve himself. Tracey probably had a crush on Blaise Zabini, and since the boy was not one to care about other's feelings and welfare, Harry would do his best to protect her should he try to abuse her trust. Hermione was cute. She was smart and pretty and very nice; he didn't learn much about her in his mental exercise. Still, he became pretty sure he didn't have any kind of crush on her, he only enjoyed her company, and it was nice to be able to know exactly how you felt, as many could be confused by their own feelings.

He even found more surprising elements. He remembered more clearly how Riddle had progressively taken control of his actions when he faced the Troll. It was still hazy, but instead of just losing control and consciousness of his surroundings, he recalled fragments of Voldemort's own feelings during the fight. The Dark Lord had felt some kind of déjà-vu; he'd fought Trolls earlier in his life, not in a classroom of course, but he'd certainly vanquished at least one in direct confrontation. Harry thought it was weird to feel from someone else's point of view, and even unpleasant, though that could have been because it was Voldemort's point of view. He briefly wondered if he'd have recalled more of Riddle's thoughts had he thought about it earlier.

He had to stop when something felt wrong. It was one of his Sunday lessons with the Headmaster, the one right after the bind on his magic had been lifted. From his memories, Dumbledore had only asked him to demonstrate a few spells, with and without wand, to check on his magical stability. The old wizard had been satisfied and had sent him on his way a few minutes later. It was only looking back that the memories of this afternoon felt unfamiliar. He compared it to experiencing something from another's point of view, though it wasn't as unpleasant as it had been with Voldemort.

The timing of the memory was also inaccurate: he remembered spending less time in the wizard's office than he had actually spent there. Whatever that meant, he couldn't figure it out. Breaking out of his focusing, he saw the time and realized he'd been busy for most of the night. Hoping that he was wrong and that the Headmaster hadn't decided to mess with his mind, Harry fell asleep in the Hospital Wing.

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A/N: That's it, hope you liked it, please review and _never_ hesitate to PM me for questions or suggestions!


	6. Chapter 6

A month and a half later, Harry was walking back to his House's dungeons. He'd seen his departing classmates to the carriages but the thought of his friends napping in the Express brought him right back to his bed. The winter holidays had arrived and that meant he'd be mostly alone for the next two weeks. Only a couple Slytherins, not from his year though, and about twenty other students from the other Houses would stay over the break in the company of the professors, the portraits, and the ghosts.

As a result, Harry had a _lot_ of spare time to study, train and explore the castle. He'd decided to continue his self-teaching of combat magic in the hope of helping his friends better when they came back and thus had planned to spend the afternoon at the Library to select the books he'd learn from for the following two weeks. Both Dumbledore and Flitwick had approached him to let him know they'd triple the frequency of their training sessions with him over the break, and the Headmaster openly hoped Harry would be able to make actual progress in Occlumency. According to him, learning such a complicated art at his young age while having to keep up with classes was understandably hard and was the reason his Occlumency training had yet to get him more than headaches.

Flitwick also expected him to progress in wandless magic and had planned to broaden his training: instead of continually levitating, summoning and banishing different objects at different speeds and different levels of precision, they would broach other spells. Harry was particularly interested in spells like _Incendio_, the fire conjuring spell, and _Aguamenti_, the water conjuring spell for a reason: the elements are inherently magical, and mastering them induced better control over the majority of spells. In short, if Harry could conjure the elements, he'd be ready to start learning how to wandlessly cast any other type of spell.

His last activity for the holidays would be to wander aimlessly in the Hogwarts corridors in the hope of discovering something useful or even understanding the secret of the moving stairs, which still eluded him. Rumors about secret magical rooms and treasures were common in the school, and Harry intended to find a few with the help of the friendlier portraits and ghosts. In the end, even if he didn't discover anything of interest, he'd probably still have a good time walking around; it was a beautiful castle.

Harry stuck that routine for the next two days, until Christmas morning. He was surprised at first to see a small pile of gifts at the foot of his bed, but then remembered his life had completely changed the day he heard Dumbledore entering 4 Privet Drive. He had sent gifts to his two closest friends of course: wand holsters enchanted to protect the wands from summoning spells and matching bracelets to symbolize their friendship. The jewelry had been quite expensive because of the charms he'd had the shop put on them: they'd warm up when they were closer. It was simple but he thought they'd like the idea. He'd also sent Hermione a pass that would allow her to access the restricted Section from the Library. He'd asked the Headmaster for it and the old wizard had been happy to comply.

The first thing that caught his attention was a small package with a note on it. Opening it revealed a silvery cloak that felt like liquid on his fingers. He was delighted to find out it was an invisibility cloak, large enough to fit him and his friends or his broom. The note, written in Dumbledore's recognizable handwriting, informed him that it was his father's, which led to Harry fooling around happily with it for a few minutes before turning back to the other gifts, like a hand-carved wooden flute from Hagrid.

Tracey had gotten him a book on advanced combat hexes with a note telling him she'd rather have him learn the spells by himself and then teach her than doing it herself, since he was widening his lead on magical fighting every passing week and had therefore become truly better than his friends. Daphne had sent him homemade pastry and a small book she'd found that described techniques designed to clear your mind and that supposedly enhanced one's proficiency in Occlumency.

He was surprised to see a note from Hermione. It was a simple note wishing him a merry Christmas and she'd added the instructions for a spell. It was a complicated one but would help him search for a particular key word or key phrase in a book. He resolved to master it by the end of the break to show her he appreciated her gift.

Harry was overall pleased by his growing friendship with Hermione. They'd spent more than a few hours discussing one thing or another over a few books in the Library and she'd unofficially joined Harry, Tracey and Daphne's study group, at least when they did their homework. They hadn't told her yet about the offensive and defensive training yet but he kept it in mind if she ever was to help them even more with the Quirrell and Cerberus issue.

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He'd already had fun exploring Hogwarts before, but the Invisibility Cloak broadened his horizons a whole lot! Curfew was no longer an issue, he could listen in on conversations to gain blackmail material on both students and professors, escape Peeves with ease; the possibilities were endless.

This is how he found himself, one night, sitting on the cold stone floor of an unused classroom in an abandoned section of the castle. It was not far from the Library, and even though he'd passed dozens of similar doors on his way, he'd felt the need to visit this one. As one who had been searching for treasures, Harry was not disappointed, though what he saw did not correspond to any Hogwarts rumor.

At his entry in the room, the only thing he'd noticed was a tall mirror. It looked expensive and was obviously magical. At first, he hadn't been at the right angle to see his own reflection. As he walked toward it, he noticed words were written on it: "Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi".

It had only taken Harry seconds to decipher the message; it was written on a mirror, so obviously the letters were reversed, which meant the lettering said: "I show not your face but your heart's desire."

Without trying to further decipher the meaning of the artifact, he stepped in front of it. He thought at first that it was, after all, a regular mirror, for he only saw himself staring back. Then he noticed the differences; his reflection smiled, openly. He wasn't that scrawny looking, which some extra definition on his arms and a stronger posture, and his clothes looked better on him. When his reflection passed its hand in its hair, while the real Harry was perfectly still, he saw the greatest variance between himself and the reflection: there was no scar.

The scarless Harry was happy, unbranded, and his mind was untainted by the evil presence of the soul of a Dark Lord. This Harry was innocent. Without thinking about his movements, the real Harry sat down and kept gazing at the Mirror of Erised. For over an hour, he just kept his gaze on it, admiring his life without Voldemort.

After a minute, more characters entered the picture. He couldn't see who the people were at first because his reflection was hugging them fiercely, but once they separated he saw two adults. From the face of the man and the eyes of the woman, Harry understood he was looking at his parents. A big black dog joined them, with another man following close behind. The last adult looked calm and reserved but happy in his present company.

Looking back, he wondered how he found it in him to leave the Mirror and make his way to his bed. It had taken an incredible mental effort to stop looking at what _could have been_ and get back to what _was_. Now that he was aware of the power of the artifact, he promised himself that he wouldn't get lost in his heart's desire the next time. Because there would be a next time, of that there was no doubt, for as long as he could control himself, the Mirror would not harm him.

From then on Harry modified his schedule and added a daily visit, usually not long after curfew, to the Mirror of Erised in its empty classroom. Every time was still as enjoyable as the previous, and yet he always found it easier to leave the classroom when the stone floor was getting too hard for him.

-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-

Apart from the ability to go sneaking around Hogwarts at any time of the day, the best thing about his father's Invisibility Cloak was that he could fit under it with his broom if he remembered to lay low. With a simple sticking charm, the Cloak also hid him from eventual observers underneath him.

Apart from enjoying the high speeds and absolute freedom flying provided him, Harry made an interesting discovery. On one of his outdoor escapades, he noticed a man briskly walking, his cloak billowing behind him: Snape. Since he was perfectly invisible and the wind would cover the sound of his movements at all but the highest speeds his broom could reach, he confidently followed his scorned Head of House into the Forbidden Forest, easily dodging the trees and branches. After a few minutes of walking without any apparent destination, Harry caught sight of another wizard's shape in the distance. The turban protruding from the back of its head indicated the man was the highly suspicious Quirrell.

Harry couldn't believe his luck: there was no doubt that what was about to happen would be interesting, if not downright useful. Once the latter wizard had jumped in mock-fright at Snape's approach, his act not as polished and refined as usual, the Potions Master immediately started his accusations:

"You know as well as I do that something has been attacking the unicorns lately, Quirinus. What are you playing at?"

"I-I am the D-D-Defense Professor. I wan-want to investigate." He answered lamely, already aware that Snape could see through his act.

"I don't know what you think you are doing, but I will find out, and I will expose your secrets to Albus. There are few things one can need Unicorn blood for, and I advise you to stay clear of the Stone." He concluded before turning right back on his tracks, his cloak billowing once more in his wake.

As soon as Snape had turned around, the look on Quirrell's face had turned back to the calculating glint Harry had seen in the Hospital Wing, this time with a touch of hatred too. The Defense Professor then looked around him, hesitating. With an angered sigh, he also made his way out of the Forest and to the castle; there was no apparently point for him to continue what he had come for. Harry decided his outing was over, and he had learned something: there was something definitely wrong about Quirrell, and they had called whatever was behind the Cerberus the 'Stone'.

Later the same day, Harry was standing in the Headmaster's training room. They had just agreed after a request from Harry to start lying about his progress in wandless magic. They had planned to start a rumor that using a wand all day long in classes was impeding his ability to cast without a magical focus, and he was progressively becoming unable to. Harry had requested that they do so to keep his assets secret, and Dumbledore had answered that he respected that decision. After some brainstorming, the two of them had decided that he would train with Flitwick less regularly while Dumbledore would start working on wandless magic with him again, thus replacing the Occlumency lessons; according to the old wizard, Harry had reached the highest level possible with his age and would only need to practice short exercises each night before going to sleep.

There was another reason for him to stop meeting with Flitwick, besides encouraging the false rumor: the enthusiastic professor couldn't teach Harry anymore because the student had surpassed the teacher in this case. After all, the diminutive wizard had only needed wandless magic to summon his wand in a duel or banish small objects at his opponents, and Harry had mastered these techniques. Dumbledore, on the other hand, was one of the last true experts of the subject and had enough control on his magic without a wand to duel any student or even some Aurors in training, which meant that he still had much to teach Harry.

"Harry, I can see your enthusiasm in improving yourself, but you must understand the actual nature of wandless magic. What makes it a rare ability is the lack of a focus to guide your magic, like a wand in our society. Other cultures use staffs, rings, or even piercings and tattoos, all kinds of focuses having different qualities. Casting wandlessly means you have to shape and control your magic with your will and your will only. This fact has another effect, which is that your spell relies nearly entirely on your intent: as there are no words and no specific movements, you cannot wandlessly cast a _Stupefy_ for example; what you can do is throw magical energy at someone and will it to stun your target.

For that reason, wandless casting is a branch of magic that allows great control over your actions at one price: it is extremely difficult to master. You also risk exhausting yourself faster than if you used a wand, as you will have a tendency to let your magic pour out of you in all directions instead of the straight line wands make. There are ways to bypass these difficulties, though. Know that you can partially replace the role of wand movements by a simple movement of your hand and arm. The movements should fell somewhat instinctive, and I have noticed that you tend to use those movements already. Then, to overpass the problem of silent casting, you can train in silent wanded casting too. It is normally only taught to sixth-years but I expect that with training and determination, you will get results.

Therefore, what I want you to do is get used to use wandless magic while perfectly still: the added challenge will only make it easier for you to cast when moving, like some Muggles train in martial arts with weights attached to their limbs so they can move faster when they remove the weights. Then, when you feel that a spell taught in class is particularly easy, try to cast it silently afterwards."

They then spent applying everything the Headmaster had outlined in his monologue. All along, Harry realized how useful his talent could be. If only he could manage acquiring more control over his intent and sharpen his will, and Occlumency could apparently help him with that, he'd be able to do anything with his magic while wand users would have to look up specific spells and learn them. Of course, he knew what he dreamed about wouldn't come for years, but it was possible and his goal gave him the determination to be patient.

-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-

Every night, Harry kept practicing his Occlumency. The exercises were simple enough and he had easily acquired the discipline they required. It was after all only a matter of clearing his mind and organizing his thoughts with a few memory exercises thrown here and there. For example, at random moments of the day, he'd write down any short number sequence he could imagine on a piece of parchment before folding it and keeping it in his pocket. There was no re-reading it before the nightly Occlumency exercises, when he'd have to try and remember the sequence.

All in all, the mind art had provided him with a slightly better memory, better work methods, and his thoughts were clearer than ever before. Whenever something confused him, he would retreat into his own mind and sort his thoughts, tearing down the confusion much faster than any of his peers.

Still, he sometimes found himself thinking back about the one memory that didn't fit in the rest, the time after the Headmaster had removed the bond his magic. Every time he thought about it, he tried to find where the problem laid, but never seemed to corner precisely what was wrong. Still, if he had to dismantle the memory of that meeting piece by piece in order to discover the truth, he would.

Once the Occlumency exercises were done and after a few minutes of wondering about the weird memory, he took the time to think back on the mystery surrounding the Cerberus, the Stone and his Potions and Defense professors. He hadn't had any time to truly research anything about the Stone but he suspected that there were so many magical Stones in the history of Magic that he wouldn't find anything relevant without more details. When it came to the Cerberus though, they always ended up on the same story about putting it to sleep using drugged food or playing music. They had no idea which soporific substance would affect it, and what quantity of it the Cerberus needed to ingest, and the other idea was simply preposterous. _Or is it? _He thought. _Have we REALLY been that stupid?_

Harry started panicking; he didn't like being stupid, especially not that much; and Hermione, Daph and Tracey too! He wondered, while putting on his father's Cloak and grabbing Hagrid's flute, how on earth they could have been stupid enough to not even try it! He rushed out of the Slytherin dungeons and quickly made his way to the Forbidden door, weakly panting an _Alohomora_ to unlock it. He only made sure that no one was in the corridor before casting the silence ward in front of the door – it wouldn't have done for a ghost or Filch to hear someone playing flute after Curfew- and stepping inside.

The Dog had already awoken from the movement of the door and he quickly smelled the still invisible Harry, instantaneously growling. Harry swallowed his fear, _The Hat said I could have been a Gryffindor, The Hat said I could have been a Gryffindor, The Hat said…_ , and brought the wooden instrument up to his lips. Then, he realized he didn't know how to play it.

With a sigh and the hope that the beast wouldn't fuss over his lack of musical talent, he played a random series of painfully off key notes. He couldn't help but imagining that this is what he would sound like if he ever was to suffocate with a flute rammed down his throat but was quickly pulled out of his own morbid imagination when the Cerberus started lying down. It had worked.

Only a few seconds after he'd stopped playing though, the mutt woke up in a bad mood. Of course, Harry didn't care: even if he was an idiot, he was still smarter than his friends. He also wondered when he got back to his bed if Quirrell had figured that out yet. If he had, then there were more obstacles under the trapdoor. If he hadn't, then all was possible.

-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-

The holidays continued and ended without any further incidents. The routine was the same as it was before, Harry splitting his time between personal research and training, his lessons with Dumbledore and Flitwick, exploring the castle and flying about at any time of the day or the night. After a few months of acting private and noble, it was nice for him to be able to be himself for two weeks. Of course, he was still glad to see his friends coming back, and he wished he could have been both free and in the company of his friends.

He privately mentioned to Daphne and Tracey that he had found how to get past the Cerberus and why Quirrell was now definitely suspect number one, while he only talked about the Cerberus to Hermione. While she didn't get the whole story, he also mentioned overhearing professors talking about a protected 'Stone' without specifying which professors in the hope that her researching skills would come in handy.

Of course Library Girl's reaction to that was to dissect any book that may mention some kind of Stone that would have a certain value and that she could find. Glad he'd found her a project for the following weeks, he decided to spend some time with his two best friends and tell them about his Cloak and a certain Mirror he'd found by chance in an unused classroom.

Harry was disappointed, to say the least, when Daphne wouldn't tell him what she saw in it, though h did respect her privacy and avoided pressing for more information. Tracey, on the other hand, admitted she'd married a certain rich student she liked and she had unlimited access to his vaults. That desire had at first struck him as shallow before she told him that her reflection used the money to travel the world and study foreign magical cultures. Any amount of probing wasn't enough to get the lucky wizard's name.

They kept going to the Mirror of Erised once or twice a week for some time, and each and every time Daphne would get giggly and embarrassed, which was extremely unusual coming from her. He'd understood after some time that it must have been about a boy or any other kind of 'girl thing', and it seemed after some time that Tracey was in on the secret. After all, Harry couldn't imagine himself resisting constant interrogation from the enthusiastic Slytherin. It was in her nature to enjoy gossip and she could get very inquisitive when she wanted to.

For some reason, one day that they came back to the Mirror's room, they found that it was gone. The rest of the room was still as empty as it had been and there wasn't even a trace on the floor's dirt that could have implied that something used to be there. All three had seen it, and all three were absolutely certain of the location; the Mirror of Erised was gone.

Only a few days after the disappearance of the artifact, Harry received something he'd ordered from owl post: six bottles of Ogden's Finest, a strong Wizarding alcohol. It had passed the wards because of Harry's request to have it delivered straight to Hagrid's hut with a note announcing the arrival of the main package the morning before and sent to him. That way, Harry knew from breakfast that the Whiskey would arrive at around four in the afternoon and only had to schedule a visit to the half-giant for that time.

He went there with something else he'd ordered and received a few days beforehand: _Probitaserum_, a weak legal truth serum known work well when mixed with alcohol. All in all, he'd spent many Galleons to try and get something out of Hagrid, but he didn't actually spend anything the rest of the time and his vault was filled with gold. If push came to shove and he actually had to make money one day, he could still use his name as a brand and start selling various products.

Harry told Hagrid he'd gotten him the Ogden's Finest as a way to apologize for not getting him a Christmas Present and not visiting as often as he should have, even if recently he'd taken to go see him in Hermione's company fairly regularly. It seemed that both Library Girl and Hagrid enjoyed their discussions about the different magical creatures.

The gift was apparently appreciated judging from the recipient's teary eyes and loud screams of "Thank you!", so Harry took a glass from his pocket and offered Hagrid to sample it right now while they had a friendly talk. He easily slipped the _Probitaserum_ in the drink and the conversation got going. After five drinks Hagrid was tipsy, after five more he was swaying a little, and after five more he was singing his secrets while dancing with Harry tucked under his arm. It was weird that even if he had admitted things that could have landed him in Azkaban, like possession of several forbidden creatures because they were "So cute!", his unwavering loyalty to the Headmaster – "Great wizard, Dumbledore!" – held and he barely said enough to get Harry a new lead.

His words were "That's business between the great Albus Dumbledore and Nicolas Flamel!" Harry also understood why the Headmaster trusted his Groundskeeper so much: the half-giant would rather die than disappoint him, and the combined effects of alcohol, a weak truth serum and Harry's questioning weren't enough to spill what it was that was hidden under the Cerberus. He wondered briefly if his Giant blood could have countered the effects of the serum and mentally berated himself for not thinking of that sooner.

The only other details he obtained from the Hogwarts' Keeper of Keys was that the Cerberus was called Fluffy and that professors McGonagall, Flitwick, Snape, Sprout, Quirrell, Dumbledore and himself had all contributed to the secret's defense, Fluffy being predictably Hagrid's contribution.

Daphne's first reaction when he told her about his eventful afternoon was to scold him for spiking a friend's drink. The second was to tell him she knew who Flamel was. Tracey had no reaction at all because she was currently staring at someone in another corner of the Common Room. It was only recently that they had taken to having their discussions in such a public place because they didn't trust themselves to make good enough silencing wards earlier in the year, and when he tried to see who Tracey was eyeing so intensely, he was disappointed to only catch a glimpse of the back of someone's robes exiting the Common Room.

"Nicolas Flamel is the world's most renowned Alchemist. He's mostly known for training Albus Dumbledore himself and creating the only Philosopher's Stone in existence. It's supposed to turn lead into gold and it's required to brew the Elixir of Life, the most potent healing potion. With it, he'd been keeping himself and his wife alive for the past six centuries. If that's what is hidden in the Forbidden Corridor, no wonder people are ready to brave a Cerberus to get it!" Daphne informed him.

They filled Tracey in when she lost her dreamy look and joined back the conversation. Harry was a little worried that she'd seemed to distance herself a little from Daph and him in the past months and hoped that whatever wizard had gotten her attention wouldn't hurt her. Not that he'd let that go unpunished in any case. The following day he decided to tell Hermione that they had uncovered the secret of the Stone so she would stop researching the subject and go back to reviewing her notes for the exams. She was extremely interested in the knowledge that such a unique, powerful and wanted artifact would be placed in a school. In her opinion since many would be ready to kill to get that Stone, maybe surrounding it with schoolchildren was not the best idea; Harry could only heartily agree.

From what they knew, they guessed that the other defenses around the Philosopher's Stone would be intricate wards from Flitwick, a semi-jungle of deadly and obscure plants from Sprout, a brewing challenge to pass some kind of barrier from Snape, animated fighters from McGonagall, a deadly creature from Quirrell and something unexpected from Dumbledore. They had at first considered getting the Stone themselves before an evil professor could do the same but their own imaginations had discouraged them pretty efficiently.

The last months of winter and then spring led to the end of year exams. The three believed at first that they were diligent in their work, but then they talked to Hermione. They had trouble believing one could survive with the schedule she'd imposed on herself and yet the proof was right in front of them. Everything went smooth and only Hermione seemed to doubt herself after the last exam, History of Magic.

Harry was sure that he had done well enough without overworking and yet he had the lightest prickle in his scar, something that hadn't happened to him since earlier in the year and only when he was particularly worn out or after trying to repel Dumbledore's mental assaults for an hour. He wasn't sure what it could mean but he still mentioned it to his friends in case they thought about something he might have overlooked; unfortunately they had no idea. All Harry could think about was that his scar was Voldemort-related so maybe it had something to do with him, or maybe for some reason the soul fragment decided to make itself known.

Still, they continued their day normally until dinner, at which point it became obvious to them that something was going on. There were two absents at the Head Table: Quirrell, or the-one-who-wants-to-steal-the-Stone, and Dumbledore, or "the-one-who-protects-the-Stone. With the year drawing to a close, their simultaneous absences had to be more than a coincidence. When Harry got up and asked Flitwick, with whom he was privately on a first-name basis, where the Headmaster was, the diminutive professor informed him that he left for the Ministry after he'd received a letter.

The ruse was obvious; thanking his Charms professor, Harry got back to his friends and they left the Great Hall to decide what to do in a more private place. Only, as they started placing the usual wards around the alcove they were occupying, it became apparent that Hermione had followed them. When she saw them she made her way to the three friends:

"Why did you leave the Great Hall? You look awfully concerned and you've been rubbing your scar a lot tonight too." Hermione, as usual, asked in one breath.

Harry didn't know whether to let her in. Finally he decided that there was no point in keeping it hidden from her if it was happening the same night:

"Listen Hermione, we've been suspecting that it's Quirrell who wants the Stone. I've overheard a conversation between him and Snape that made it clear the greasy bastard is not the problem. There were also a couple of times when he was acting differently: his stutter and twitches are fakes. We know he's going for the Stone tonight. Are you helping us?" he hopefully explained.

"Have you told a professor?"

"They won't believe us. We're first years and Snape has been watching Quirrell for most of the year already. If he doesn't believe that he's up to something now, we won't change his mind. You know that any professor would just tell you that it's safe and Dumbledore will be back in no time."

"The best way to know is to get to the Corridor and have a look, right?" she suggested.

Since they all agreed, they decided that it was too late to plan anyway and just tried to stay calm while they climbed the stairs to the Third Floor. Once they arrived, their fears were immediately confirmed: the door was ajar. Once they were close enough to look inside, they noticed a harp lying on the ground, still playing. Glad that they wouldn't have to play the flute, they got a little closer to the still open trapdoor.

"So we just jump?" Tracey asked, her voice starting to quaver in fear. "We're eleven! What good do you think we'll do down there? That guy's probably a fully trained Dark Wizard!" she continued, now openly panicking.

"We have to, or he'll get the Stone and then we'll have an immortal Dark Wizard. I can't force you to go, but you can't stop me either." Harry declared, stepping closer to the hole.

They collectively shuddered when they looked down and saw what was apparently a bottomless pit. As Harry was trying to build up the courage to jump, there was an unusual sound. The harp had just gone off-key before stopping entirely. Immediately the Cerberus stretched a paw that went right between them and the door, and when one of the three heads started to sniff around, Tracey made a weak "meep" sound and all three heads growled deeply at them.

Harry immediately saw the others tense in panic, so he grabbed Hermione and Daphne, pushed them down the hole and then jumped in while grabbing Tracey around the shoulders. They landed on something soft and immediately the witches started screaming at him; _They mustn't have noticed that I just saved their lives_ he thought as he started extracting himself from whatever was underneath him. Something seemed to have gripped his feet but he managed to kick it off before standing on the side of the room they were in.

It was so dark that he raised his wand and cast an adrenalin-fueled _Lumos_. The tip of his wand lit up brighter than usual, and the sight before him was terrifying: vines were wrapping themselves around his friends, slowly constricting them. He barely noticed that they had started shrinking recoiling a little under his light before making a quick choice: that thing eating his friends was a plant, and plants burn: "_Incendio_!"

The fireball was greater than anything he'd dared cast in an abandoned classroom and it tore easily through the web of vines. In a matter of seconds it was completely dead, the last bits of it burning in corners. Harry muttered "I'm sorry…" when he realized he was the one who had pushed them down in the first place. He sat down and stared into nothing, shocked by the actual near-death experience.

He did not notice the others standing up and brushing their robes, but he did notice an arm wrap around his neck. A sideways glance revealed it was Daphne. "I understand you had no choice but to get us down here." She admitted. The rest was whispered: "If we're going to die down here, just know that… it was you in the Mirror."

When Harry looked at her, he saw she was heavily blushing and was staring at her feet. Tracey was looking at them with a knowing smile while Hermione was muttering something while examining one of the remains of the second trap.

Understanding what she meant, Harry wrapped his arm around her shoulder and kissed the side of her head. "Thank you for telling me, Daph. You know that I saw a family; you should know that you and Tracey are the closest thing I have to a family."

They waited a minute for the tension to leave them a little before moving on to the next room through an unlocked door. They were immediately assaulted by hundreds of small flying objects. Closer inspection showed they were winged keys, and Hermione said she could see brooms in a corner.

Logic said that there would be a way to distinguish the correct key from the rest but he just decided to grab a broom and fly around. He tuned out the voices of his friends and let his Seeker instincts out. He was looking for something that stood out: in a stadium he'd look for a golden glint, here he'd look for a special key. Quickly he saw one that was having trouble flying; it was also the only silver key, and it made for the easiest catch of his life.

He got back down, opened the door, and stepped in a room that was occupied by a giant chess set.

"Do we have to play?" Hermione asked. "I'm horrible at chess!"

"Don't worry, Tracey and I were taught by our parents and we play together sometimes. We'll do okay." Daphne assured.

Tracey hesitantly followed her friend on the set and the pieces started waving all of them over. After a minute they figured out that each had to replace a piece and play accordingly. Daphne and Tracey discussed their strategy and directed their friends and pieces. Whoever had animated the set was extremely good though because even with their combined efforts came a point where they needed a sacrifice. It was either Hermione or Tracey. They had been discussing what to do next for minutes at that point before Hermione stepped forward without warning.

There were gasps and screams when an opposing rook hit her on the head, knocking her out instantaneously. After that the game was not very long anymore. They regularly looked to the side to see if she was still breathing and check for bleeding from a distance. Finally, a few minutes later, Tracy called with a disbelieving tone "Checkmate."

All pieces bowed and returned to their original positions though they still prevented the students from helping Hermione. They had suffered their first casualty and all hoped there would be no more, still it was with heavy hearts that they stepped through yet another door. The familiar stench had them worried until they noticed that the troll that used to guard the way was knocked out on the ground. They quickly made their way to the other side of the room and opened the next door.

It brought them in a dark room. There was a table in front of them with a note and several bottles of different colors and shapes. When they had fully stepped in, black flames blocked both doors; there was no leaving without passing the trial. Immediately the girls started reading the note in front of them while Harry examined the bottles. A quick glance at the message had shown that it was a riddle, and he was pitiful at riddles.

Daph and Tracey were still thinking aloud when he picked up the smallest bottle from the cork and examined it. All were covered with a thin layer of dust and it made it obvious that only the smallest had been picked up. If the previous one to have tried to pass had survived then it was the one. He announced his discovery and the good mood was extremely brief when they came to two realizations: there was only enough for one person in the bottle and the next room was the last; it was Dumbledore's.

Harry placed the potion back down and they both drew him in a hug. It was not exactly a goodbye hug, as they still had hope that he'd come back from that room. It was a hug to wish him good luck and a show of support. He let them go with a sad smile, downed the potion and ended their silent goodbyes by walking through the fire in front of him.

He'd felt cold when he had drunk the potion, but the flames harmlessly licked his robes as he walked through the black fire. The sight that welcomed him was half-expected: Quirrell was there, trying to figure out Dumbledore's protection, but in front of him was the Mirror of Erised. While his professor was turning around, he raised his own wand and yelled "_Confringo!_"

Quirrell moved incredibly fast; he easily sidestepped the hex and whipped out his own wand, silently casting a disarming hex at Harry. The latter managed blocking it but he was by the following rain of spells. Seconds later, he was lying on the ground, disarmed and bound. Quirrell was smiling an evil smile and started talking:

"I must admit that I would never kill you, Potter. Learning that a fragment of my master's soul is embedded in your head was a wonderful revelation. Yes, your own life keeps him alive, but nothing will stop me from throwing you in a cell and breaking your spirit. My master will enjoy destroying you, child. But in the meantime, I cannot figure out how your crazy Headmaster hid the Stone from me. It is close, I know it; but out of my reach. You are his favorite student, so surely you'll be able to retrieve it for me."

Harry had made a decision during the madman's monologue. With or without wand, he was nothing against such an opponent. He had no assets, and as it was, Quirrell was about to use him before sentencing him to a fate worse than death. Harry had only one thing that could help him beat this wizard. It was a power that had nearly always resided in him but escaped his control.

Dumbledore had once told him that the fragment of Voldemort's soul wasn't intelligent. It had memories, instincts and power, but no thoughts. It was a matter of imposing his will over a non-sentient energy; his only chance was to harness the thing's power. He gave no answer to his professor as he tried to dive into his own mind and find it.

Quirrell was getting impatient and had leveled his wand at Harry, but he was not listening; he was trying to shake awake something that slumbered below his consciousness. Harry felt himself lifted from his feet by a magical force and did his best to keep his focus despite the madman getting angry and spitting threats of great pains.

Back in his mind, Harry had found it, he'd discovered where Voldemort laid deep in him and he was trying to bring it to the surface. Unfortunately, it was chained, imprisoned. Gold was holding it down and despite his best attempts, Voldemort remained still. Then a word rang in the outside world "_Crucio_!"

Harry felt the pain of a thousand red-hot knives carving every fiber of his being, and only the fact that he was safely hidden in his own mind allowed him to stay sane after thirty seconds of the torture curse. He could feel the pain, his body was screaming and shaking, but where he was, it was all smothered by the layers of his spirit.

Still, he was in danger. As he hadn't dared surfacing again to face the truest pain, he saw two red eyes flash open in him. Under the threat of an outsider, Voldemort had awoken and was now fighting his bonds, Harry helping him all the way. The golden chains held under the strain of two powerful beings fighting them, and once the exhaustion of both the insane torture his body had been subjected to, and the mental struggle, overcame him, he opened his eyes.

Quirrell had turned around, and his turban had dropped to the floor. Instead of the back of the professor's head, a snake-like face was staring back at him. The thing had blood red eyes, and when they made eye contact, something happened.

Harry felt like he was looking at a mirror, only through a golden veil. He understood that Voldemort was the thing on the back of Quirrell's head, and seeing Voldemort staring back at him connected the soul fragment to the outside world.

The golden prison was shattered as Harry's eyes mimicked the ones he was looking at and power came rolling off of him in waves. A liquid that was golden but had the substance of blood started flooding a side of his face.

Harry had a mad grin when he waved his hand and threw Quirrell back against a wall and called back his own wand. He stood up, his strength coming back, and witnessed the professor's second face integrating the man's head. When Quirrell turned back around, two Voldemorts in two different bodies were facing each other.

The duel that followed reduced the walls, ceiling and floor of the room they stood in to dust while the two wizards demonstrated how gods can try to destroy each other. The castle shook when spells collided, and its magic was disturbed enough for all wards to start screaming in alert at the staff.

Nobody but the two Voldemorts understood what was happening, though they were too involved in their fight to care. It was, at first, evenly matched, until the slight differences between the two decided which would perish and which would be victorious. Quirrell's body was stronger, and its magic was under tight control. Harry's body was smaller, weaker, and a teenager's magic is unsettled. Then, the Voldemort who inhabited the Defense professor had, after ten years spent as a weak wraith, learnt the true meaning of patience, and it was an intelligent being. The one who inhabited Harry's body was like an animal: instinctive in a fight, but surpassed by smarter opponents.

In the end, Quirrell-Voldemort had a slight advantage, though it wasn't enough to turn the tides. To do so, he decided to avoid shielding against a spell and instead cast another one. The hit he took ripped his left arm out while the right one cast the simplest disarming spell possible; one he could use reliably and quickly in the middle of a terrible fight while under great pain.

This one additional spell was unexpected by Harry-Voldemort, who was forced to let go of his wand. His animalistic thinking had been too surprised by the sacrifice his opponent had made, and man prevailed over animal.

Harry, deep inside his mind where he was still just Harry, knew he had been disarmed. Despite his best efforts, he hadn't been able to impose his will on the soul fragment and harness the power and instincts for himself. Instead, he'd been crushed under the rage of the greatest Dark Lord in History. Yet things had changed. The primal Voldemort had been surprised, and his defeat had turned his surprise into shock.

Taking advantage of the soul fragment's dazed state, he brought his will down on it and crushed it. He stole its power, reflexes and instincts while keeping his own intelligence. He was without a wand but he wouldn't be stopped by such a triviality; he brought his magic to the tip of his knuckles in the shape of a blasting hex and pounced on his opponent.

Quirrell-Voldemort attempted to banish him away before he could make contact but his efforts were useless against the raw energy surrounding Harry; the right fist of the teenager hit the older man's jaw with an explosion. The target was thrown backwards and Harry jumped back on him to beat his face in. The blasting hexes were gone and even though the man's face had already been mostly destroyed, he noticed something peculiar: where their skins touched, Quirrell burned.

Harry stopped punching and instead grabbed the ruined head in front of him. Deciding he wasn't dying quick enough, he stretched his arms wide around him before digging his fingers deep inside Quirrell's temples.

With one last scream, he died and a black mist left the mangled corpse before travelling right through Harry and straight out of the castle. The schoolboy who had vanquished the Dark Lord for the second time in his life fell back, unconscious, a few minutes before Albus Dumbledore rushed in.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Sorry for the slow update, I had exams all week long and for some reason I wasn't inspired at all for a few more days. Still, hope you enjoy, fav/follow and review!

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Dumbledore was sitting next to a bed in the Hospital Wing. Madam Pomfrey had made him swear he wouldn't disturb the first year student who was lying in that bed; the poor kid needed all the rest he could get. Indeed, after leading his friends through the series of traps that protected the Philosopher's Stone, Harry Potter dueled a professor who was, at the time, possessed by the most powerful Dark Lord of the last few centuries.

All of that happened a week before. In that week, Harry was kept unconscious by the Mediwitch to ensure his full recovery from one of the most extreme cases of exhaustion she'd ever witnessed. The Hogwarts rumor mill, of course, did not stop during these days: word had spread that Harry Potter had defeated an adult Dark Wizard who'd tried to steal the Philosopher's Stone from the school. The night of these events, the entire castle had been shaking for minutes, and from that point on very few would dare attack Harry Potter.

Dozens of students had attempted to visit him in the Hospital Wing but only two had been allowed to enter: Hermione Granger and Daphne Greengrass, two of the three girls who had accompanied him in his adventure. They had taken to visiting regularly in spite of their friend's unconsciousness, and the two girls had grown closer with each visit. Part of their friendship was because they had both risked their lives to help the same wizard; another part was a letter their friend Tracey Davis, the third of Harry's companions, had received a day after that frightful night: a message in which her parents demanded that she distance herself from Harry Potter.

In his company she'd had to face an adult Mountain Troll, a Cerberus, a series of traps that included Devil's Snare and a brutal life-size chess set, and nearly crossed wands with a Dark Wizard who'd infiltrated the school by possessing a professor. She had previously told them about another Slytherin boy that was friendly with her; at first, they would have preferred her to stay away from him. After nearly dying a few times, Blaise Zabini didn't sound so bad to them anymore.

Tracey had honored her parents' demands but she also quickly understood that Daphne wasn't leaving Harry's side; she wasn't losing one of her best friends, she was leaving both. After only a week, Tracey had lost some of her warmth, and seeing that had also saddened her former best friends.

Hermione had also had a bad week. It hadn't taken her long to realize that she'd completely panicked that night. She'd frozen in the Snare and been useless in all of the following rooms. Guilt and self-pity had been consuming her until Daphne came along and helped her see the bright side of things: the blonde Slytherin had easily pointed out her bravery and loyalty to her friends, and relayed to her some of the school's gossip. Hermione had gained the respect of many once it became known that she'd followed Harry in his quest to prevent a powerful, unique and priceless artifact from landing in the wrong hands.

Daphne Greengrass was perhaps the happiest witch in the castle: she'd faced death with the boy she fancied, admitted some of her feelings and not been rejected, and both had survived. Only the loss of her other best friend had the power to taint her good mood, and even then she was quickly making another good friend. She had been told that Harry would be woken up sometime in that afternoon and that she'd be allowed to visit him after the Headmaster had a short conversation with him.

The one who had the weirdest week though, was Harry Potter himself. After his victory against the Dark Lord and subsequent fainting, dreams had arrived and never stopped. When he had shaken awake the soul fragment, the Voldemort in him had not only broken his binds but also made a connection to Harry's mind. Instead of returning to the depths of his subconscious, it had remained where it had been called. Then, when Harry overcame it, he also submitted it; the soul fragment had then taken to lurking in its master's mind, defending it. Its proximity also caused Harry to live, in his dreams, some of Voldemort's memories. Some memories were of no use, others of his training and research provided him with invaluable knowledge.

Harry awoke with a strange feeling in his head. His scar wasn't prickling like it had at times, but he was aware of it in a new way. For the first time in his life, it no longer felt like a parasite; it felt like a true part of him. He studied this new awareness of what made him the Boy-Who-Lived for a minute before opening his eyes.

The sight of Albus Dumbledore's face triggered two different reactions in him: the first was his usual; a simple acknowledgement of the old wizard, but the other one was one of mistrust and cautiousness. He somehow knew it had something to do with the new feelings associated to his scar, and remembered a promise he'd made to himself earlier in the year, to always check his thoughts were his own before acting. Therefore he tried to ignore the second reaction and croaked "Hello, Professor."

The Headmaster made eye contact with him, his grandfatherly smile in place as usual, and expertly hid his surprise at what he saw in Harry's eyes: nothing. A master Legilimens automatically scans the surface thoughts and feelings of anyone he talks to; it is like looking at a phrase and trying not to read it. But there, he found that the student in front of him had apparently become a master Occlumens in the span of a week he'd spent unconscious.

Pretending to check Harry was alright, he tried to analyze the shields in the young wizard's mind: they were extremely close to Voldemort's shields, and yet he could tell that Harry was not being possessed; something he discovered about the soul fragment was that it would have acted on instinct and attempted to kill him, yet Harry was perfectly calm, maybe even happy to see his Headmaster.

The only logical conclusion was that either Harry had learned from the soul fragment or it was actively defending Harry's mind. He briefly wondered if it could be both, and decided to move on with the reason of his presence:

"Tell me, how are you feeling?" He gently began.

"No pain but I feel like I'd pass out if I tried to sit up. How long have I been out?"

"A week, and you probably only feel that way because you've been kept under sleeping potions for the last four days. Poppy was not sure you would have recovered from the exhaustion otherwise."

Harry took a moment to process that. He asked about Quirrell, Voldemort, the Stone and if he missed anything of importance while he slept. Dumbledore kept his answers positive and not overly detailed, and it seemed to Harry that he wanted to speak to him about another matter. Finally, the old wizard got to the point:

"Harry, I am sure your friends will be eager to tell you about what you missed of the last week. I, on the other hand, must insist that you listen carefully to what I have to say." He said gravely.

Harry merely nodded and tried to focus his still fuzzy thoughts.

"It is my understanding that the soul fragment took over your body once again to protect you that night." Harry nodded again. "While it was fortunate that it was able to overcome Professor Quirrell, I have observed that it is now more… active, in a way."

Harry again nodded his understanding and linked that with the new presence of his scar. After a second, he asked "What does it mean?"

"It means that the soul fragment must be getting stronger. I am afraid that it may more easily influence or outright possess you in the future, and to fight that, I want you to use Occlumency exercises to fight it." He explained.

Harry promised to do his best though he couldn't help but doubt this solution. The soul fragment didn't feel foreign like it used to, and he was now fairly confident that next time he'd be able to take control of his body back. He'd done it once after all. In fact, he was fairly certain the soul fragment wouldn't try to possess him again, it felt _under control_. He then realized with a start that those thoughts may have been instilled by the soul fragment itself. With no way to verify if his thoughts were his own, he decided to follow the experienced wizard's advice. At the very least, it couldn't do any harm.

Dumbledore then instructed him further on the exercises he recommended to suppress the soul fragment's influence and when Madam Pomfrey came with a mad glint in her eyes, the old man excused himself before she could hex him in the back for disturbing a patient. Harry contemplated telling his Headmaster about Voldemort's memories but settled on the opinion that it was merely more evidence of the new connection between the two souls, of the very connection he was to try and sever.

The rest of the day passed in a blur, but that was partly because of Harry's slight drug-induced daze. Daphne and later Hermione told him all about the happenings of the week. The rumors were welcome; even if it is sometimes wise to hide your assets, occasionally showing off can earn you respect. Tracey's behavior saddened him but he understood that even if her parents had instructed her to distance herself from her friends, in the end she had made the choice to obey. It was her decision, and they'd respect it if she decided being close to them was too dangerous.

Harry also told his friends all about what happened after he stepped through the flames. They were surprised to hear Voldemort wasn't dead, and after swearing them both to secrecy using a minor magical oath they were powerful enough to cast and that would roughly Obliviate them should they try to reveal the secret, told them about the soul fragment. He didn't delve into the details but made a point to reveal it was the reason of Voldemort's survival and that he was starting to acquire some measure of control over it.

At some point Harry also found himself giving a motivational speech to Hermione in order to boost her deflated self-confidence. Of course, she was a stubborn girl and he had to use another strategy:

"Listen Hermione, if you still think you're useless then you will join Daph and I when we train. We have quite the headstart on you but I cannot begin to understand how you will be able to feel useless once you'll have mastered _Reducto_ or even _Confringo_ and blow things up with a wave of your wand, trust me; you won't feel useless. Not that you are, anyway." He smiled. "Explosions are just about the most useful things you can do with magic: you can use them as distractions, attacks, to breach a wall, control your environment, scare people, _have fun_… You'll understand when you try it."

It was only with that speech that Harry realized he did like explosions. Looking back, it was something he'd always enjoyed while training, the way it made him feel… raw power; he wondered if it was Voldemort's soul fragment influencing him. _Maybe it is, _he thought_, but in the meantime I still want to blow things up_.

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Less than two weeks later Harry was meeting the Dursleys in King's Square. Daph had calmly contained herself and walked toward her parents, Hermione had jumped in her parent's arms; Harry barely muttered "Hello" to his relatives before they ushered him into the backseat of their car. The ride home was silent: Harry realized with a smile they were scared of him, and the slightly evil smile did nothing to ease his fat cousin's fears. The summer would probably be long but better than any of his ten first years with the bastards.

As he dragged his trunk and owl with him up the stairs and to his room, he realized his birthday was a month and a half later, and he certainly didn't have enough reading with him to survive a month of boredom. Once he was sure his few belongings were all in his room, Harry se to find a solution to his problem.

A simple solution came to him: owl post. He'd used it to try and get Hagrid drunk and he was pretty sure he could order a variety of books or anything else using Hedwig. Immediately he scrawled a note asking Flourish and Blotts for a list of the books they had on particular subjects: namely Occlumency, up to fourth year level spell books and guides to the magical world. The latter would certainly help him become a little less clueless about his new world.

A week later, Hedwig brought him a dozen tomes in a satchel enchanted to nullify its contents' weight. Unfortunately it turned out that Occlumency guides were restricted by the Ministry because they were too informative on Legilimency: therefore, it was illegal to learn how to properly defend your own mind. After a minute of silence in memory of the Magical World's deceased common sense, he started studying the newest additions to his personal library.

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Every night Harry practiced his Occlumency as instructed by the Headmaster. He cleared his mind, visualized the soul fragment and attempted to suppress it, pushing it down the layers of his mind. But it didn't work: since he woke up in the infirmary, the second soul seemed to be too tightly woven to his own mind for him to negate its influence.

Each and every night he lived random, different memories of Lord Voldemort. He sometimes learned something, other times he only caught glimpses of his early life and thoughts. There was no chronology and Harry felt that it would be a long time until he managed to see the bigger picture and understand what he saw.

Harry also kept up his other exercises, sorting not only his own memories but also Voldemort's since he started dreaming them, because it immensely helped him retain information, think clearly and build his Occlumency shields. Once he'd done all the more recent memories, he went back by pure curiosity to the memory that didn't fit: the memory of his meeting with Dumbledore after the lift of the bind on his magic.

Once more he noticed how it felt wrong, how it was like trying to push a triangular object in a square hole. He investigated it again, still trying to corner precisely what was wrong in order to correct the memory.

Like all the times before, he failed; his failure instilled self-doubt and anger in him at the same time. Only this time, there was something in him that managed to express itself, something that completely loathed self-doubt, a thing that was powerful when angry. Slowly the thing started peeling back the layers of the memory, before completely erasing it.

Then the true events started coming back. The thing, and Harry understood then that it was the soul fragment, gave him its own memories of this particular afternoon. Harry remembered the soul fragment was non-sentient, only capable of instinct and filled with memories.

He saw a young-looking Dumbledore through the eyes of an animalistic Voldemort. The room, the wizard's words, the _threat_ he represented triggered the surfacing of fifty-year old memories and with them, a feeling of imminent danger.

When the old wizard whipped out his wand and attacked, the primal Voldemort took over; all of its memories identified Dumbledore as a threat, and it instinctively dealt with him as it did with all threats, by fighting back. The lack of intelligent thought and the unsettled magic of Harry's body were the reason of Dumbledore's victory, and Harry witnessed himself being the object of a ritual designed to contain the soul fragment, until a word was whispered: "_Obliviate_".

Harry opened his eyes, boiling with anger. _The old bastard! He thinks he can mess with my mind?_ Forgetting any idea of getting sleep, he stood and started pacing in his room. The Headmaster obviously thought he'd made a hard decision: there was no glee in his voice when he whispered the incantation. Still, that meant he could be trusted less than he had previously thought.

The fact that Harry was able to break the memory charm reminded him that the old man could make mistakes; therefore he'd have to always second guess his instructions. In fact, it was the soul fragment that had broken the charm so maybe it wasn't such a bad thing. He'd also been trying to repress it for an entire year without results so maybe another approach would be wiser.

The only other way he could think about was to learn how to control that thing: after all, he was sure he could do it with enough discipline and training. He'd gain power, maybe knowledge, and he wouldn't have to fear it breaking his shields and controlling him if he kept it close to his conscious thoughts but on a tight leash.

Yes, Dumbledore had lost Harry's trust, and the latter decided to stray from the former's path so he could make his own. Harry would not push the evil away and hide from it anymore; he'd confront it and impose his will on it.

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Close to a month and two more trips for Hedwig later, Harry had a thought that brought him a smile: _I'm going to get myself a birthday present!_

It was something he'd read about in his guides to magical customs and that he'd decided to research more carefully afterwards. A House Elf: the small creatures could cook, clean, garden, shop, send messages, transport humans, and even defend their masters, all the while remaining unseen. As a boy who was stuck with relatives who had him cook, clean, garden for them, he had to get himself one.

After two days of trading letters with specialized companies, he finally received the one he'd been waiting for, a list of available House Elves. From what he understood, there were not many House Elves for sale at the moment: most were inherited and who in their right mind would free one?

All in all, he had to choose between an enthusiastic male called Casky, a butler-type male called Alfry and a shy, discrete female called Minky. The choice was easy considering his relatives' reactions if they ever were to witness an elf in their home: two hours later and after paying two hundred Galleons, Minky appeared with a soft pop in his room.

She was immediately bound to him and her first instructions were simple: "Only clean what I instruct you to clean, don't garden unless I tell you to, and only cook when my relatives tell me to and you are sure they can't see you; because that is your most important instruction, the Muggles must not be aware of your existence."

She was also instructed to always keep an eye on him in case he needs protection or even extraction. Harry also told her that if he ever was to begin a sentence with the words "It would be handy if…" then the following words would be a discrete command to her when she is invisible and in the presence of others. This way he'd be able to talk to her around the Dursleys without being too obvious.

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Harry's first few days as Minky's master were the best he'd ever spent at the Dursley's. She happily took care of most chores, Harry only working when he was sure he could be seen. He only ate a little with his relatives but always looked forward to the small feasts she'd prepare for him in his room; of course, since she couldn't use the Dursley's kitchen, Harry had ordered a trunk with enlarged space in it. The trunk had a small kitchen and a second medium sized room where he could sleep and eat. There was a magical port-a-potty with a built-in vanishing spell behind a curtain in corner of the second room.

It was mostly Minky who used the trunk though, as the enlarged space within it was still extremely cramped up and he'd ordered the House Elf to live there. All was well until the day of his birthday, when he realized he hadn't received any letters from his friends in the previous weeks. Harry hadn't expected mail every day but between Hermione and Daph he had hoped to occasionally receive an owl.

On top of not receiving presents, the Dursleys had invited potential business partners, the Masons, and he'd been ordered to make them believe he didn't exist. Having spent a month and a half in the sole company of his books and only the last few days with another live being, it wasn't exactly hard for him to obey that.

Thus it was looking up from his book that he saw a House Elf in his room, only it was the wrong House Elf. Minky, as usual, was nowhere to be seen and there was another Elf looking up at him with huge worried eyes. The little thing was wringing his hands when he talked "Harry Potter sir must be going back to Hogwarts… No, there is great danger there, and Harry Potter sir's friends did not even write him…"

There was only a vaguely skeptical look on Harry's face while he listened to the Elf's rant. He finally deigned raising an eyebrow and asked "Are you here to spy on me, attack me, or steal my things?"

"No, no, Harry Potter sir does not understand!" the confused Elf answered, "Hoggywarts is a dangerous place! He must not go because his friends don't want him!" but Harry had already gone back to his book.

"Sir?" he asked a few seconds later.

"Do you have anything to do with the fact that I haven't received my mail?" He said.

At that point the House Elf was heavily sweating and he slowly took a stack of letters from underneath the ragged pillowcase he wore. "If Harry Potter sir does not return to Hogwarts then Dobby will give him the letters!"

Still ignoring him, he asked "Do you wear underwear? If not the deal is on hold until you clean the letters."

Dobby complied and gave a questioning glance. "All right, give me the letters and I won't go back to Hogwarts. I nearly got killed three times in my first year, wouldn't want to risk a fourth." Harry answered with a kind smile.

Apparently Dobby wasn't as stupid as he looked because he wasn't buying it. The small creature took a step backwards and talked "Harry Potter sir is trying to trick Dobby! Yes, Harry Potter sir is smart but Dobby is not fooled!"

With a sigh, Harry decided there was no other option left. "_It would be handy if _someone was to steal the letters from Dobby, kick him out of the House and prevent him from coming back and intercepting my mail. Wouldn't it?"

It was a confused Dobby who suddenly closed the hand that held the letters on air and disappeared with a small crack. Minky appeared in his place and handed him the letters.

"You did a good job Minky, when I leave the house could you please follow me to make sure he doesn't try anything else? The poor guy is crazy."

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The most interesting letter Dobby had hidden from him had been Daphne's invitation to spend the last two weeks of summer with her family. Even though she wrote that they would go together to Diagon Alley to get their school supplies, Harry decided to go there with Minky for a small shopping trip first. His priority would be to get some better quality robes; it was his understanding that the Greengrass family was wealthy and lived in a manor so it wouldn't do to arrive with robes that were too small for him.

Two weeks later he was standing in front of 4, Privet Drive and after making sure nobody could see him that early in the morning he waved his wand in the air. Those were the only instructions Daph had given him to call the Knight Bus, one of the main forms of Wizarding Transport in Britain. He could have used Minky but Daph didn't know about her and he was curious to try a magical bus.

Seconds later a huge bus materialized with a loud bang in front of Harry. He got in and asked to be brought to the Leaky Cauldron. Unfortunately for him he hadn't sat yet when the bus started moving again and flew a few feet toward the back before managing to get a good grip on a seat and wrapping all four limbs around it.

A few crazy minutes later they stopped; Harry paid and gladly stepped out of the torture device and into the pub. He saw Daphne, her parents and a younger girl waiting at a table in a corner and walked toward them.

"Harry!" Daph squealed without the countenance she'd shown at the train station.

"Hello Daphne." He said while she hugged him, "I'd like to meet your family now, if that's all right?"

She reluctantly let him go and turned toward the table: "Those are my parents Lord Nicholas and Lady Cynthia Greengrass." The tall blond man shook his hand while the much shorter and black-haired woman slightly bowed her head. "And that thing there is supposed to be my sister Astoria; she's two years younger than us." The black-haired girl glared at her sister but smiled at him.

They all got up and Floo'd to their manor, Harry falling down when he arrived. Astoria laughed before Daphne gently helped him up, which caused the younger girl to stare at her sister with big eyes and a devious smile.

Lord Nicholas guided them to a sofa and two armchairs in front of a fireplace. The adults took the armchairs while Harry sat on the left of the sofa. Daph sat on his right but Astoria immediately claimed his lap and asked with a perfectly straight face "What are your intentions toward my sister?"

Everyone either chuckled or laughed at Harry's startled look, only Daphne blushed and pretended to slap her sister. Most of the following two weeks was spent in the same spirit; he spent most of his time with Daphne but every time they would start getting comfortable Astoria barged in and did her best to get Harry's attention.

When they went flying on the grounds the young girl insisted on sharing Harry's broom while he made the most frightening moves, when they started relaxing after a long day, together by the fire, Astoria's voice could be heard in the distance "This is soooo romantic…", effectively ruining the mood.

All in all, they both had good time, even though Daphne was frustrated by both her sister's intrusions and Harry's cluelessness as to her intentions toward him. The trip to Diagon Alley had gone fine until they saw Lucius Malfoy and Arthur Weasley fighting in the distance, which made the trip great. The youngest Weasley girl squealing and running away at Harry's approach, resulting in a death glare directed at the small redhead from Daphne and giggles from Astoria, embarrassed him to no end; but the worst happened inside Flourish and Blotts.

Gilderoy Lockhart, a wizard who loved writing about his epic adventures, heroic life and charming smile, was there to sign his sign his works and he'd apparently attracted a number of witches. Only Astoria seemed really excited about his presence, the two other Greengrass girls huffing at his childish behavior.

The real trouble started once they were already inside: after a minute of fighting their way through a crowd of overexcited fangirls to get his books, Lockhart's front page material detector zeroed in on Harry and he grabbed the boy by the arm, dragging him to his stand. There Harry had to make a quick decision. The reporters were already raising their cameras so his decision had to be made quickly: with a wave of his hand Harry levitated the banner that hung from the table to block the reporters' vision. He then elbowed the writer in the jewels and walked away, sneaking his way past the crowd.

The master stroke was when he handed Astoria a handful of autographed pictures of the idiot he'd picked up while making his escape, though he had to spend the rest of the afternoon with a young girl practically wrapped around his waist, her screams of "Thankyouthankyouthankyou…" muffled by his robes.

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Ginny Weasley was a lively young girl, hardened by life with six brothers in a small home and a poor family. She had ambitions of becoming a powerful witch to seduce the wizard of her dreams: Harry Potter. Her brother Ron had only had negative things to say about him but she hadn't believed him. How could Harry bloody Potter be a future Dark Wizard? Ron was an idiot.

The twins, on the other hand, were on friendly terms with him and spoke of his willingness to play along in a good prank, his talent on a broom, his fairness with his peers, and the power he must have to conquer a Mountain Troll and vanquish a Dark Wizard intent on becoming immortal.

Harry Potter was the dream of many young girls, but she was going to Hogwarts the following year, and he would be hers. _Yes, he'll never see me coming, and he'll be mine. Right, Tom?_

_Of course, Ginny; don't hesitate to ask for my advice if you want to get closer to him._

"Ginny! Dinner's ready!" a voice shouted from downstairs. Ginny closed her diary and rushed down, her thoughts split between her new best friend Tom Riddle and her future husband Harry Potter.


	8. Chapter 8

Ginny Weasley was waiting with not much patience for her Sorting. She could already see Harry Potter from where she stood; he had a dark and mysterious look, his hair giving him a rogue appearance while his emerald eyes – his _oh so beautiful_ eyes – shone like lighthouses in the Great Hall. He was talking with some blonde trollop, it was obvious the girl wanted him, but she didn't know that the wonderful Harry Potter was hers.

She couldn't really be faulted for her ignorance, could she? And it wasn't like she'd get Harry anyway, Tom had told her she'd marry him and Tom was very smart. She didn't know how he ended up in her school stuff but he certainly was the best thing that had ever happened to her. It was very comforting for her to get a good friend who was a good listener after growing up both the youngest of the household and the only girl apart from her mother.

Even then, Molly Weasley had a certain tendency to try and shape Ginny into the perfect housewife. Ginny knew she'd need those skills to keep him happy but she wasn't too scared of Harry rejecting her because she can't maintain her house clean: someone as wealthy as her Harry could buy House Elves for that, and anyway he already loved her; he just didn't know it yet.

Ginny lived in a perfect world.

"Ohoho, I like what I see there… So much potential in you, you could get into any House, you know?" the Hat remarked in her mind.

"Just put me in Gryffindor like the rest of my family, I'll be okay." She asked.

"I could, it's true, but let's not rush into things. I see your greatest wish is to get the Boy-Who-Lived, right? You want to remove any doubt from anyone's mind that you are the one for him, that's rather ambitious… You are also greatly attached to your family, which covers loyalty… You have all it takes to be a good Gryffindor, true, and you've also got the brains to be a Ravenclaw."

"Just Gryffindor, please." She started sounding nervous.

"But I thought the man of your life is a Slytherin, being in his House would bring you much, much closer to him."

"Tom said so too but it's not like I need to share a Common Room with him! He'll notice me, no worries."

"Sorry but I find myself disagreeing with you, girl. Yes, yes, you already tend to break trends in your family, don't you?"

"Please no, not Slytherin! I must be in Gryffindor, I don't want to lose my family!" she begged, her voice echoing with despair in her mind.

"First girl in three generations, and seventh child: powerful numbers, you're not like your brothers and parents, you're special!"

"I beg, you, just… not Slytherin, I'd give anything!"

"Let me do my job for a minute. Better be…"

Ginny's perfect world was shattered with the loud cry of "Slytherin!" emerging from the Sorting Hat's brim.

She didn't feel it when the Hat was removed from her head; she was only shaking her head in denial. She turned her gaze toward the Gryffindor table - her rightful place! - and what she saw broke her heart: Ron's eyes shifted from surprise to a more somber expression. The twins were laughing like it was a joke, but she was hurting! They thought her _life_ was a bloody _joke_! Percy was giving her the blankest look she'd ever seen him wear; the bastard had already denied her existence as his sister… Tears were flowing freely from her eyes when she was guided by an adult's hands toward the Slytherin table… _her _table.

Ginny sat without thought and a quick glance showed everyone staring at her, some in pure shock, some sniggering. It sickened her to see all those bastards' reactions at her life breaking apart!

Raising her eyes again, she saw _him_, the bloody Boy-Who-Lived, looking at her with beautiful, caring eyes, a look of compassion openly displayed on his stupidly handsome face. It was his fault she was there, and _now _he wanted to help? He should have helped before all her hopes and dreams got broken by a tattered old leathery bastard! It was just a hat, why did it have the authority to destroy lives?

Her eyes lost focus as she stared at the table. Harry's best analysis of her expression only showed a spark of anger in an overall feeling of being lost. The poor redhead had looked so lively when he briefly saw her in Diagon Alley that it hurt him to see her looking so resigned, like she was going to die.

Of course, he knew she had been fed lies and stereotypes on Slytherins, and since it was her family that spread said lies, her home life was sure to take a hit. And now she believed she was alone in the snake pit. Harry even wondered if she'd try and take her own life at some point, never had he seen someone that young with such blankness in the eyes.

But Daphne and he would show her she was not alone. The girl needed help and she'd get it. They had to.

Meanwhile, all Ginny could think about was her diary: _He'll be so happy for me… Tom is so nice but he'll never understand. I still have to tell him though; too bad he's only a diary. Of course, he's never failed me before, so maybe he'll be able to help?_

The youngest Weasley spend the entire night sobbing while writing in her diary. Her family would disown her, her friends deny her very existence, and the wizard of her dreams was a fraud and was _responsible_ for all this. On top of it all, her best - and now only - friend Tom Riddle seemed too happy of her Sorting to care about her despair. He kept talking about Potter, he didn't understand her.

Of course, it was just a diary. Nevertheless she kept writing in it. Tom was her last link to her life, and she would die before she let him go: for hours on end she poured every emotion of anguish, despair, fear and anger and with each word that was absorbed by the pages, her need to write grew. She only stopped when she passed out, an hour before the others woke up and feeling like something had drained her of her very essence.

-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-

Having woken up earlier than his roommates, Harry made sure his bed's curtains were closed and stuck before silencing his bed again and calling Minky. The shy elf appeared a second later, wondering the reason she was called.

"Minky, now that I am in Hogwarts I want to change your instructions. First, I want you to help in the kitchens if the other elves will let you. You can also stop following me, if nothing happened outside I don't think Dobby will try anything in Hogwarts." he stated, and was surprised when she interrupted him.

"Master Harry Potter sir, bad elf Dobby tried to block the portal to the Hogwarts express. Minky repaired the portal before Master and Master's Greenie passed it. Bad Dobby will surely try something else."

"Well first of all, thank you and good job at King's Cross then. Now that I think about it, could you try to find out who owns Dobby? Maybe that could give us an idea of who exactly is trying to put the school in danger or keep me out of it."

"Minky will do that Master."

"Then off you go, and remember to remain unseen as usual!"

The elf popped away and Harry wondered what Dobby would try next. After failing with diplomacy, blackmail, and sequestration, Harry could only hope the little guy didn't go too far.

-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-

Harry and Daphne met up just outside the Common Room. It was hard for them to see Tracey walking past them without so much as a glance in their direction but they tried to get over it and started walking to breakfast.

"Have you noticed the Weasley girl yesterday?" he asked.

"Of course I have. She was nearly catatonic and not much better this morning. She looked like she'd spent the night awake and crying, and I think she had a hand covered in ink."

"Guess she has a diary then, and I don't think she's writing any feel-good poetry in there. We should help her."

"Give her an autograph," she joked.

"Maybe that would have done something if she hadn't given me some kind of desperate death glare at dinner."

"Considering she spent the previous hour looking at you like some kind of divinity, that's weird."

"Maybe she thinks Harry Potter the Hero of Britain should have intervened and sent her to her rightful House. That or she lost her mind," he answered.

"I think it's the latter, but you're right, we should help her."

They arrived at their table and could quickly saw the redhead in question staring at her empty plate with dead eyes. The twins were obviously trying to cheer her up but she ignored them while the other Slytherins just glared at them and they abandoned after a few minutes.

By then Harry understood that no amount of goofing around would get her out of depression, maybe he'd have a serious talk with the twins later and try to sort it out. Harry and Daphne had no idea why they wanted to help her so badly but the matter was that they did, and seeing her like that wasn't doing anything good to their own moods; especially when Tracey was ignoring them and trying to engage Blaise Zabini in conversation on the opposite end of the table.

Harry and Daphne agreed to watch her for a few more days before intervening in case her family managed to get open up.

-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-

The second day of term was both interesting and disturbing for Harry. The first thing that had gone wrong was their first lesson with the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, Gilderoy Lockhart himself.

The pompous git had been giving Harry weird glances every now and then while he tested the class on his favorite color, hopes and dreams and the numerous beauty awards he'd received. His looks weren't hateful, scornful, longing, or anything expected: he looked confused.

Harry guessed his attitude toward his fame and the fact that he'd elbowed his future professor in the male bits instead of smiling and making the front page was a mystery to the idiot, so the rather random detention he received ("Come on Harry, you should smile more! Detention with me tonight!") would probably be spent getting taught how to handle fame properly.

And he'd been right. For three hours straight Lockhart kept ranting about "Giving the witches something to hang on their walls" while waving posters of him around the room and "Losing your fear of attention, taking pride in the interest of the world!" while holding fan mail close to his chest.

The detention was excruciatingly slow, boring and even painful for his hand when Lockhart decided to teach Harry how to autograph pictures ten times as fast as the common human being. In the end, Harry let his body take over and automatically complied with the madman's instructions while thinking about something - _anything _- else.

It was well after curfew that Harry was released and more than once he caught himself thinking _I bet I could sleep rather well behind this suit of armor_ or _Boy, this rug sure looks comfy_ while trying to stay awake on his way to the dungeons. This was why he attributed it to his imagination when he heard a low voice quietly hissing "Blood... I smell blood..." seemingly all around him.

Only when he woke up the next morning did he understand something was wrong. Something was _very _wrong, and he could only hope it was one of Peeve's pranks because if something was after blood in the castle, then Dobby may have been right after all. Perhaps 'Harry Potter sir' shouldn't have come back to Hogwarts.

-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-

Harry had of course told Daphne about the voices but she also thought it was Peeve's idea of an innocent joke. What Harry did not voice was his opinion that the prank would obviously have been directed at him, and Peeves would have taken it farther: the poltergeist was not one for subtlety. Instead Harry would have imagined the mad spirit jumping on him from the shadows after hissing.

The Weasley girl as they called her seemed to have become calmer. She no longer looked like she was on the verge of suicide at meals and had instead adopted a passive expression. She didn't acknowledge people who called her name and went about her own business with perfect calm and no apparent emotions.

They weren't sure whether that was a good thing or not. Maybe her clamming up would make it harder to reach out to her and it meant she probably still wasn't dealing well with her Sorting. Once again Daphne mentioned the redhead often appeared to have a little ink smudged on her hand and Harry found himself wondering what she wrote in her diary. It was certainly wrong to steal it and have a look but, well, he hadn't had many regrets after getting Hagrid drunk and spiking his whisky for information.

It was also for a good cause, just like it had been with Hagrid, but he knew that he was just trying to convince himself that it was a good idea. Knowing he'd just have an internal conflict until he relented to his Slytherin side and did it, he just decided not to inform Daphne - who would certainly not approve of stealing a girl's secret diary - and do it sometime soon.

All he needed was a plan and Harry was rather sure he could pull it off without too many problems. He'd of course heard of what awaited those who tried to get into the girl's dormitories. From what he'd heard the enchantments were different in all Houses. The Gryffindors only had a staircase that turned into a slide, the Hufflepuffs had alarms alerting the prefects while the doorknobs stuck to the trespasser's hand and the Ravenclaws had the most interesting one: the door opened but led you to an alternate corridor which in turn brought you straight into a cell in their Head of House's room.

Few knew what exactly what caused the boys to run screaming from the girl's dormitories in the Slytherin dungeons, but Harry had overheard someone who did. There was a boggart stored next to their doors so that it was released at the approach of boys and disappeared right afterwards. Boggarts having the ability to turn into one's greatest fear, the security system was quite effective.

A little research had shown that the best way to deal with a boggart was a simple spell called _Riddikulus_ that was used to turn the boggart into something hilarious, thus nullifying its power. Harry's problem was that he had no idea what exactly was his greatest fear was, and it wouldn't do any good to run into the boggart and decide how to deal with it later.

He now had to find a boggart if he wanted the diary, and while he knew that in a castle the size of Hogwarts there had to be at the very least one haunting a cupboard or another, the castle was truly huge. It was for a reason that the students who organized search parties in Hogwarts found new rooms, corridors and passages every other week.

Hoping the professor wouldn't see through his ruse, he decided to contact Kettleburn, the Care of Magical Creatures professor, because even if it was Lockhart's job, Harry certainly wouldn't go to that idiot for help. He approached the wizard in question after dinner on the third day of term and started asking his question:

"Professor, could you help me with something?"

"It certainly depends on the matter, Mr. Potter. What do you need my help for?"

"Well I've read up on a few creatures and I was intrigued by the boggarts. It made me wonder what my greatest fear could be, and I hoped you could help me find one somewhere in the castle." he politely asked.

"It's not the type of magical creature one is supposed to care for so it's not exactly my area of expertise, and I can't help but notice you didn't consult Professor Lockhart on this matter," he responded with a small smile at the end.

Having caught his professor's expression, Harry played along "I considered asking him for help but it would be unkind of me to his fans to steal his precious time, thus forcing him to leave the poor people's mail unanswered."

In the end Kettleburn told Harry to follow him while they went looking in the higher levels of the castle. They both had fun backhandedly mocking Lockhart along the way and after some time and stairs the adult stopped him.

"I've heard reports of a boggart somewhere around this corridor. The student who warned me doesn't remember where exactly since she was too busy running away from what looked like a bloodthirsty chimera to count the doors," he said, "now, there is a spell to reveal certain dark creatures, and it works on boggarts."

"Raise your wand high above your head and incant '_Revelaret Timor_'. Focus on finding fear and the spell should take care of the rest."

Harry took his time to focus his intent, raised his wand above him and spoke the Latin words with determination. Immediately his arm was forcefully brought down toward a particular closet door which started making banging sounds.

"As you can hear, the creatures are aware of the spell being cast. Now if you want to keep your greatest fear a secret I'll give you some privacy but stay close. Should you scream, I'll come and neutralize the boggart, all right?"

Simply nodding to answer, he decided to do his best to stay focused on his task. Harry knew he'd seen scarier things than almost any other student and hoped he could deal with the boggart without a professor's assistance. Kettleburn retreated in a nearby classroom but left the door ajar so he could still hear everything.

Harry promptly stepped forward, his wand at his side and _Riddikulus_ on his lips. When he was just a few feet from the closet door, it flew open and the scene that emerged from it terrified him.

He saw Daphne kneeling on the ground, looking defeated. There was a shadow emerging from Harry's scar and it materialized to form the dark silhouette of a good looking young man. It looked older than Harry but they bore a striking resemblance.

"Harry's mind was too weak, girl. The poor idiot thought he could beat me but I broke his will. He's now nothing but a spectator in his own body and I'll enjoy killing his best friend, with his wand, his hand, in front of him," it stated with obvious glee to the boggart-Daphne.

Harry stood helpless in front of that scene: he knew it was faked but it accurately expressed his worst fears, and on top of it he had no idea how to make it funny! There was simply nothing humorous in the situation.

"Please Harry, don't kill me... We're friends, remember? You said you wouldn't hurt me," Daphne pleaded.

"Shut up. He's deliciously helpless, and you can't change anything. _Avada Kedavra_."

Harry whimpered as his wand fell to the ground and he stepped forward to hold Daphne's body. He knew it was just a boggart but it still hurt so much and somehow, in his twisted mind, not being able to beat the boggart made him feel like he couldn't protect his friends. He was touching the cold body when his scar became scalding hot. "You bastard!" he screamed.

Kettleburn walked into the corridor, wand in hand, to see Potter, his friend's body at his feet, trying to punch a being that looked like it was made of smoke. At first his fist flew right through it, but then he looked again at the corpse beside him and a new fire started burning in his eyes.

The next swing violently brought Harry's fist in the thing's jaw and it howled as much in pain as it did in surprise. Harry continued bringing his fists down and started kicking it when it was on its knees. Finally, he grabbed the thing by the throat, pressed it against the wall, and smashed its head with his own. The shadow disappeared along with the body and he turned around to see a shocked professor.

It was a weird thought that crossed Kettleburn's mind; _Potter literally vanquished his fear_. And the reason of that thought was that the boggart was completely gone.

"Could we please keep this a secret?" he asked with the adrenalin high bringing a smile to his lips, "I don't need the extra attention."

"Well, the Boy-Who-Kills-Dark-Creatures-With-His-Fists is a mouthful, it's true."

Harry thought about how he killed Quirrell-Voldemort and noticed the start of a trend there. With a smile, he joked "At least I know what to do the next time I see one. Who need _Riddikulus_?"

-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-

As soon as he was alone again, Harry dropped the playful act. He had to think on the events of the night. What was interesting was that he may have discovered something new about the soul fragment's powers.

Seeing Daphne dead, and the feeling of helplessness that accompanied it had angered him, and his scar had played along with the anger, bringing out Voldemort's fury. He had been blinded by that fury directed at what he knew to be a representation of the Tom Riddle who inhabited his scar and tried to hit it.

The first few hits flew straight through it, and his conclusions about that were that Voldemort's legendary anger wasn't any good at fighting dark creatures. He had killed Quirrell the previous year using actual spells and something that caused the man's skin to burn at the contact of his. At the time he had believed the latter element to be the magical effects of his rage but he was finally brought to doubt that assessment.

Only after looking back at Daphne and thinking about their friendship and how much he cared for her, did his hits actually hurt the thing. It would seem that the emotion of love was much better at fighting dark creatures. Was it, somehow, love that burned Quirrell that night?

It was a question he'd have liked to ask Dumbledore but he knew the answer couldn't be trusted. Even if it wasn't a lie, Harry was pretty sure the old wizard could use half-truths to his advantage; some people just knew how to bend the truth to serve their purposes and the Headmaster certainly was one.

Harry's musings were interrupted by a soft pop in front of him. Minky was staring at him with her big eyes and her master raised an eyebrow to invite her to speak.

"Minky knows who bad Dobby's masters are! Dobby belongs to the bad Malfoy wizards!" she exclaimed with pride.

"That's interesting Minky, you did a good job. You can go do something else, I need to think about this." And she popped away.

So Dobby the lunatic and maniacal House Elf belonged to the Malfoy; it suddenly became obvious that the 'great danger' he was talking about was something he'd overheard at their manor. What could it be then? He knew that Lucius Malfoy had narrowly missed Azkaban at the end of the war because he carried the Dark Mark and pleaded he'd been under the Imperius curse.

He'd had a run-in with Voldemort the previous year, which meant that the Dark Lord had resumed some activities. Logic would state that the evil bastard was involved in this, but it certainly didn't help deduce what the danger was. He also knew it was something that hissed and sought blood in the corridors, which again didn't help much.

Harry only decided to keep collecting evidence and hope he could identify or even counter the threat before it did any lasting damage.

-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-

The next day was the worst yet. Harry had only just exited the dungeons when he heard more hissing. The voice was too far, too muffled for him to understand it, but it did sound like it was in a good mood. Knowing that a happy bloodthirsty beast was never good news he started searching the first few floors of the castle, hoping he could find something or help if someone had gotten hurt. He kept going for a few minutes until he reached the second floor.

At that time everyone was eating breakfast in the Great Hall, but apparently one student had been late. He was an older Ravenclaw judging from his robes and appearance. He had his glasses on and his book bag still flung over his shoulder, but what caught Harry's eye was the fact that he was perfectly still. Closer examination showed the student had been petrified.

Behind him, on the wall, was a message: "THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED. ENEMIES OF THE HEIR BEWARE."

He ran back to the Great Hall, stopped at the doors and then walked in, trying not to pant too obviously. He went up to the staff table and addressed the Headmaster.

"A student was attacked. He's petrified on the second floor."

He hadn't spoken particularly loud but when all professors stopped talking at once, all the students' attention was redirected to the front of the Hall. Then, the few students who'd heard him started spreading his words. By the time Dumbledore, Flitwick and McGonagall got up to follow Harry, the entire Hall was roaring with rumors. Of course, some had already started speculating about Harry's involvement in this, especially Ron Weasley of Gryffindor.

A few minutes later found Harry, the three professors and the petrified Ravenclaw in Madam Pomfrey's Wing. Quickly McGonagall turned to him:

"Harry, what were you doing on the second floor during breakfast? Your dormitories are in the dungeons and I don't think you had any classes yet."

"That's where it gets weird professor," he said with nearly honestly, "I heard a voice in the corridor on my way to the Great Hall. It was talking about blood so I tried to see if anyone needed help where the voice came from. I came straight to you when I saw that he'd been petrified."

It was Dumbledore who spoke next:

"Can you describe that voice? What you say is disturbing, Harry."

"It was a low voice and sounded a little like hissing. It sounded as if it came from the corridor itself rather than a particular direction, but I could hear approximately where it came from."

He was then thanked and dismissed so they could discuss the problem and the worrying message.

When he got out, Harry returned to the second floor and found himself in a growing crowd. Quickly pushing his way to the front, he saw Malfoy bragging about the Heir of Slytherin cleansing the castle of all mudbloods. Of course this only encouraged Harry's suspicions of the Malfoy family's role in the matter.

Another person he noticed was Ginny Weasley. What struck him was that even if she still tried to have empty eyes like the day before, there was a crack in her mask. She was terrified by what she saw on the wall, and he thought she might be about to panic. When she turned on her heels and walked straight through the crowd in the direction of the dormitories, Harry followed her.

She had indeed rushed to her dormitories, leaving Harry unable to follow. He waited in the Common Room because classes had been cancelled for the morning and saw her come back out a few hours later, some ink on her writing hand and her face completely passive again. She definitely had a diary and it appeared to be the only thing that calmed her down. Since she'd probably written down what it was that scared her so bad, he knew he needed to see it if he wanted to help her.

-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-

The following week was tense, and Harry noticed that certain people were mildly scared of him. After the rumors of his exploits of the previous year and with his House, he supposed some idiots would inevitably believe that he was the Heir. There was only one day when the attention was away from him, and that was because Lockhart had started a dueling club to help the students defend themselves.

The legend of the Chamber of Secrets involved Slytherin's Beast, a legendary monster, so Harry doubted basic dueling skills taught by an idiot could help one against that. He still decided to attend, hoping for the presence of additional professors or in the worst case just to serve some students their own asses on a plate; if he considered Lockhart's taste for great demonstrations, it certainly wouldn't be a lesson on theory.

In hindsight, attending was both a stroke of genius and the worst idea of his life. The bad part was when Draco cast _Serpensortia_ at Ron to send a snake flying toward the redhead, and Harry realized he could talk to the snake, which resulted in everyone accusing him to be the Heir; the good part was when he realized _he could command the snakes_! That skill was so useful he didn't even care about the rumors. Need someone killed? Send a snake. Need to fight? Have snakes assist you. Need to spy? Send an army of snakes.

Harry calmly cast the silence ward around his bed when he had that thought the night after before closing his curtains and dancing on his bed. He certainly felt ridiculous but even started singing, praising himself as a genius.

It was so simple, and he set his plan in action the next day during a free period. He walked to the edge of the Forbidden Forest, checked nobody was around, and cast _Sonorus_, the voice enhancing spell, on himself. He then tried to imagine a snake in his mind, and the hissing sound they made. His focus broke when he realized the bloodthirsty corridor beast had also been speaking in Parseltongue but he stored that thought away for later.

After one more minute, he thought he was ready and spoke up:

_:Snakes of the Forbidden Forest, I call you forth! Come to me!:_

Harry couldn't help but smile in triumph and shiver simultaneously when dozens of snakes slithered toward him. They kept coming for a few minutes before he spoke again:

_:Snakes, hear me! Does one of you know what is hidden in the Chamber of Secrets?:_

One particularly large snake slithered in front of the others and spoke:

_:Slytherin's Chamber is the home of his familiar, the King of all Serpents!:_

After interrogating the snake that could probably easily eat him and have room for a few more students, he was satisfied with his answers. He'd learned that the beast was a Basilisk, and this one was sixty-foot long, not that it really mattered since even a five foot Basilisk could kill a man with its stare. The snakes did not know why the Ravenclaw had only been petrified instead of killed but relayed that it happened to some people, seemingly at random to them. They could also tell him where the entrance to the Chamber was and that the smaller snakes could also access it from cracks and additional tunnels in the castle.

With all that in mind, Harry thanked the snakes, sent them back to their hunting in the Forest and walked back to the castle, whistling a happy tune: he had a plan. It was good to have a plan, and Harry could think was _Merlin bless Parseltongue!_ He only stopped at the Library before heading for Myrtle's out of order bathroom and coming back out a few minutes later to have lunch. It had been a good day, and he had high hopes for the ones to come.

A/N: I know everything seems to happen so much quicker than in canon, but I have an explanation: Ginny wrote in the Diary about her problems.

In canon those problems were for the most part: "Harry doesn't like me back" and "My brothers treat me like a little girl". In this story, it's "My life is broken", which incites her to write a lot more in the Diary which loves to absorb all those negative confessions. When she writes about such problems she's at her weakest so she is possessed a lot earlier, before the characters even hear about the strangled roosters.

Then I felt that if Lockhart was going to start a dueling club, waiting for the second attack and a few more weeks doesn't seem to make sense to me.

Finally I think it's frustrating that canon! Harry doesn't do anything with the wonderful ability that is Parseltongue! There is so much potential and he wastes it so much I think it's nearly sad…

Still, thanks for reading, please review/fav/follow and don't hesitate to PM me!


	9. Chapter 9

Harry awoke with his good mood slightly lessened by a thought, or rather the remnants of a nightmare. He'd relived the boggart's actions, only in the nightmare all of it had been real. Harry had failed to protect his friend, let the soul fragment take over his body, and been the starting point of Voldemort's new reign of terror.

Thankfully it had only been a dream, but Harry still had a problem that was brought to the front of his mind by the bad dream: the Weasley girl's diary. She hadn't gotten any better, actually her behavior had worsened since the petrification, and he was still determined to get her diary and understand what was going on in her mind.

Only, to reach the diary, he had to get past a boggart, and his first encounter with one hadn't been conclusive. He had no idea how to turn his friend's death at his own hand and caused by the weakness of his own mind into something ridiculous, and he didn't even want to think about it.

Also, after some thought, Harry realized that Slytherin was supposed to be the House of the cunning, and if him, a first year, had been able to learn of what consisted the girls' dormitories defense, and how to counter it with a simple spell, then it couldn't be the only defense.

It was obvious there had to be at least another spell, another enchantment or trap meant to keep out the boys from their housemates' knickers at night. The problem was that since nobody could deal with a boggart without making a lot of noise and attracting the prefects, or worse, the Head of House, no one had actually tried to get past it, and therefore Harry couldn't possibly know what lay beyond the creature.

There were only a few ways to fix that: he could face the boggart as quick as possible and have a quick look at the next step, hoping he'd get relevant information useful for a later attempt, but that was risky, and very Gryffindor. He could teach someone who knew their own greatest fear, teach them _Riddikulus_, and have them report what was on the other side of the boggart, but that meant alerting the staff who could later _change _the security measures.

Third, he could try to learn the information straight from Snape, but he didn't want to know what it would take to extract that kind of information from him. He couln't try to spike his drink; the man was an especially brilliant Potions Master, and he doubted he had the cunning to manipulate the man who was essentially the epitome of sneaky in Hogwarts. Snape was, after all, the most suspicious person of the castle and yet he'd earned the Headmaster's unwavering trust.

Maybe Harry's thoughts had been going the wrong way, and he'd been wracking his brain trying to figure out a solution to a problem he could avoid. Did Ginny bring her diary out of her room at times? If she did then he could attempt to get a hold of it at such a moment. If she didn't, was there a way for him to _make_ her do it? Could Harry somehow have her get her stuff out?

A simple plan would be to turn the girl's dormitories into an unsanitary place - hello Dungbombs - so they'd have to get their trunks away from it and spend the night somewhere else. Then Harry could take advantage of the situation to have a quick look in her trunk, use a copy spell on her diary and read its contents later, comfortable by the fire.

Also, maybe he was going too far for what was probably just a prepubescent girl's secret diary, a place for her to rant about the failure of her hero, how unfair the world was, how her family was treating her like an outsider; in short, nothing Harry didn't know yet.

Finally he decided he'd started obsessing on that diary for some idiotic reason he didn't even know, and he should instead have a talk with her brothers or even herself, the diary being an option solely if the opportunity arises.

He got up from his bed and had a quick shower to clear his head. Doing so brought another thought. For the first time since a few months, he hadn't lived a single memory of Voldemort's, instead having a nightmare about being forced to kill his best friend. His nights were surely weird.

He stopped to think some more about that: why hadn't he received any 'visions'? The scar certainly didn't feel like it had after his confrontation with Quirrell. Even then, even if it had lost its foreign feeling, he'd always been aware of it, like you'd be aware of a new muscle.

No, he didn't even notice it anymore. Harry could only guess that he'd gotten used to its new link to him, and the soul fragment had somewhat 'settled', stopping its constant interaction with Harry's mind that marked the period when it was still creating a link between the two of them.

He again discarded his train of thought, this time to breach a happier subject. He knew where the castle's entrance to the Chamber of Secret's layed, and he'd started warding the place. The first one he'd installed was the simplest warning ward: should someone attempt to open the door to Myrtle's bathroom, Harry's magic would start 'tingling'.

Of course, he couldn't expect to be able to get to the entrance before the Heir could open the Chamber, and he had no intention of sticking around when a death-stare Basilisk could appear at any instant. The warning ward had only been the first step of the plan.

Harry had planned to use most of this day's spare time to lock the door in an unconventional way. Not something obvious, just a single locking charm that would resist an _Alohomora_. Something to gain a few seconds. He'd also thought about transfiguring the door's hinges so they'd melt into the wall.

Such a transfiguration would be close to impossible to detect and would certainly puzzle anyone attempting to open the door. Yet Harry didn't want to excessively lock the door, because if he did then the Heir would know something was up and flee, while if the door was just locked, he'd take the time to unlock it; the bathroom was abandoned, it wasn't a stretch of the imagination to think a professor could have locked it.

All Harry wanted was to gain a few precious seconds. Just enough to get there under his Cloak and on his Nimbus 2000 and cast a stunner. If he found the time to do so before the Heir attempted to access the Chamber again then he'd also try to look up more active wards, preferably something able to stun anyone who unlocked the door and then touched the handle.

At the end of classes that day, Harry was happy with his warding. He'd succesfully applied a locking charm able to resist an _Alohomora_, and transfigured the hinges enough for the door to be effectively blocked. He started going everywhere with his cloak in his pocket and his broom in an expanded-space pouch he'd bought from an upper year at twice the price.

The last thing he'd done was have a few specimens of a particular species of snake to silently stand guard in the bathroom. Their bite induced paralysis and he'd precisely ordered them to leave their victims alive and in good condition with absolutely no hissing allowed while on guard: the Heir was probably a Parseltongue and he didn't want the snakes to loudly announce their presence, which would defeat the purpose of the trap.

Once he was done congratulating himself on a day well spent with Butterbeer he'd had Minky pop to his bed, he set off to find the twins and have a serious discussion. About an hour before curfew he was walking down random corridors until he heard a few distant explosions. Moving in their direction he quickly found the twins experimenting with homemade firecrackers.

One in particular didn't fly in the intended direction and instead headed straight for Harry who could only epicly dodge though the firecracker caused his Cloak to slip off of him.

The identical Weasleys had trouble understanding why the supposed Heir of Slytherin had appeared out of thin air after avoiding a particularly vicious attack from a crazy firework. Of course, since they absolutely adored the unpredictable, they greeted him with large smiles as he picked up his dad's artifact.

"What brings you here to our laboratory?" one asked.

"Yes, our ever so humble laboratory?" the other added.

"Guys. That's a corridor. You could have hurt someone." Harry felt the need to say.

"But as you may have noticed, -"

"- the explosions are rather loud, and thus -"

"- anyone who approaches our laboratory -"

"- does so at their own peril. Still, what brings you here?"

Harry was already confused by the way they talked like they were two beings controlled by a single brain. There had been theories on twins, but never had he heard of brothers reaching such a level of identicality. It seemed impossible, and yet, magic.

"Well, er... I was here to talk about your sister."

"Fancy her?"

"Want the big brothers' blessings?"

"She'll be so happy to hear you are enamore with her, you wouldn't believe the crush she has on you!"

After patiently waiting for them to joke around, he continued:

"I'm being serious here. You know there is something wrong with her. Ever since the Sorting she's like a walking corpse, no friends, no fun, no anythings. It's like she's dead inside, and I think we should help her."

That seemed to catch their attention, and they nodded for him to continue.

"I've noticed you goofing around to get her mind off things, but it's obviously not working. She's too deep in her funk and I think we'll have to approach this more carefully, because she's _not_ amused by the situation."

"What do you suggest?" only one said, a sign of their being serious.

"I suggest you get her alone and let her know you aren't casting her out of the family. Let her know her Sorting doesn't change your opinions of her, let her know you still care. Then, if she makes any progress, or even if she doesn't really, I'll try to have a talk with her too. Maybe that crush will be useful for something."

The three of them continued their plotting for a few more minutes, and at the end of their discussion were hopeful that they'd be able to reach out to Ginny without her clamming up.

Unbeknownst to them, an old wizard who had come disillusioned to make sure the fireworks didn't kill anyone wore a great smile at his students' actions. It was in moments like that he found the strength to keep going after all these years, and this memory would find a place of choice in his Pensive's cupboard.

-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-

Fred and George found their only sister walking down a hall, heading for the dungeons. They knew she had a free period and no friends in her House, and she wasn't even willing to spend time outside in the sun. After glancing at each other and nodding, one walked to her left, the other to her right.

Each grabbed one of her arms and together they herded her to an unused room on the side. She didn't even complain, only looking annoyed like she'd rather be crying by herself in her dormitories in the middle of the day.

"Gin."

"We understand these past two weeks have been extremely hard on you, and it's also hard to see you like that."

"We're worried for you. We care about you and we want you to be happy."

"So Gin-Gin, please tell us what is wrong and give us a smile."

Never had they tried to be that kind in their lives, but this time they were truly feeling what they said. They saw Ginny look at the door and realize she couldn't escape before she spoke:

"I _don't_ want to talk about it. Everything is wrong, everything. I have no friends, you're probably the only ones who at least pretend to care about my life, and my life _is_ over!" her mask was cracking.

"There is nothing you can do, there is no reason for me to smile! Ron ignores me -"

"He's a git," one interrupted.

"- Percy treats me like I'm not family -"

"He's an even bigger git," the other said.

"- and _nobody_ tries to help me! They're all watching me like I'm some freak, they can see I'm hurting, and they aren't doing anything! He's not a hero, he's a _jerk_!" she finished, screaming.

Both twins shared a knowing look and turned back to her. This time they sat her on a table and each took a place at her side.

"So, I trust you are disappointed in Harry? Don't interrupt, you know I'm right."

"But you haven't seen the real Harry. He wants to help you, he is a hero in his own right; he did, after all, slay a Troll to give his best friends time to run for their lives and prevent a Dark Wizard from reaching immortality. In his first year."

"In fact, he's the one who helped us realize we weren't actually helping you. Without him we'd still be joking around to try and get you to smile, but _he_ understood what you needed."

"An honest talk between brothers and sister. We want you to know that we will be there for you if you ever need to talk or even cry. We'll listen."

"And you should know there's another shoulder for you to cry on. Someone else who will support you."

She had actually been listening to them all along, which was significant progress from their previous attempts at cheering her up and, at that point, she said in a small voice:

"Harry?"

"Exactly sis, even if he doesn't know you, it hurts him when you hurt. He's not the kind of hero the stories described, but he is his own kind of hero."

"He also doesn't want to hurt you by accident so if you want to get to know him like he wants to get to know you, talk to him and he'll listen."

As synchronised as ever, Fred and George wrapped their arm around Ginny's shoulders and held her while she thought.

She was obviously shaken by their talk but it was a good thing to see emotion on her face. it was something they'd all missed without knowing it in the past two weeks. After another minute of their silent show of support, one asked:

"Do you promise us you'll talk to Harry? He will be around you a lot more than us, and he is a good friend."

It warmed their hearts to see her actually smile a little. She rested her head on the one who talked's shoulder and whispered: "I think I will. Thank you."

Fred and George kissed her on the head before suggesting they have a walk on the Hogwarts grounds. In the end, they spent a pleasant afternoon during which she was still shy with her emotions but nearly out of her unpleasant mood.

-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-

The next few days were repetitive for Harry, yet he had a purpose to spending all of his free time around the same section of the castle. Every free period and every evening was spent as close to Mytrle's bathroom as possible wishing he could catch the Heir the next time he tried to access the Chamber.

He was also glad to notice the Weasley girl was getting better every day. She still didn't have any friends in Slytherin but she spent more time with the twins and some of their own friends. She also paid Harry more attention; it was still less than before her Sorting but she must have been thinking about his indirect offer to become her friend.

Harry could only hope for two things: that she would accept the offer and that she wouldn't try to seduce him later. Stories from the twins had confirmed her disproportionated crush on him and if two weeks of hating him could do one good thing, then it was lessening the crush, or even, though he didn't dare hope for it, get rid of it entirely.

He had also talked to Daphne about his use of Parseltongue, how he was now guarding the Chamber, and the reasons of Ginny Weasley's progress. Daph had been unsure of what to think of it all. First she'd liked the way he used his assets, then she wondered out loud why he didn't tell Dumbledore where the entrance to the Chamber was and, finally, why was he obsessing on the redhead?

Daphne was always honest with herself, and because of that she knew she had her own crush on her best friend. She also had high hopes of actually becoming his girlfriend whenever he got a clue about girls, a time she imagined couldn't be much more than a year later, but she was still trying to be on the lookout for potential competition.

She had had the same thoughts about the cute first year's problems and wished she could help her. Daphne had also approved of Harry caring and eventually doing something about it, but recently he'd talked about her _way too much_.

The Weasley girl's well-known crush on Harry didn't make Daphne any calmer and if she really _had_ to get closer to him, then she'd make sure to lay some ground rules.

Rule number one: Harry is mine.

Actually, there wasn't a single other rule. With those thoughts she settled on observing and waiting for the right time to make an apparition, the redhead better watch herself if she knew what was good for her.

Of course Harry was completely clueless concerning his best friend's current line of thought and guessed she'd been thinking of how to word her next question all that time:

"So... why no telling Dumbledore? I mean I know you don't trust him that much but he could seal the entrance in a heartbeat and even ward it to effectively trap the Heir," she asked.

"He Obliviated me, Daph, and he kept it a secret. He could have said something like 'I'm going to perform a ritual on you to help you keep control of yourself and then Obliviate you so you don't know the specifics and nobody can get the details of the ritual out of your mind and break it.', but he didn't. He just did it, and lied to me, thinking he knew what was best and I was better remaining ignorant.

Well I think he'd do the same thing. He'd thank me for the help then try to tamper with my mind and do everything himself. I _don't_ want to be kept out of the loop like that. Telling Dumbledore would equal completely relegating the responsibility to someone else, because I don't know how long it would take me to retrieve the memory. I'd rather have to do it myself and be sure the work is done right, than give the old man absolute trust. He's not perfect and he'd try to do it alone; I know I can still call him for help if things go wrong."

Daphne only nodded, he'd certainly gotten his point across with his monologue. Their conversation had continued with her giving some more thought about potential competition to date Harry someday while he wondered why she was so distracted that day. _Certainly thinking about Dumbledore_, he thought, _she wants to find a way to safely get help from him_.

In fact, later that day, Harry wondered about that himself and had an upper year Ravenclaw cast the Protean Charm on two pieces of parchment. He had asked him to do it via a note left in his bag along with five Galleons to ensure anonymity. That way, anything written on one parchment would appear on the other, and anything erased on one would be erased on the other.

He then wrote a message to Dumbledore on the first while making sure his handwriting wasn't recognisable, and the message did appear on the second parchment . It said:

_'Professor, I want you to know that I have come to acquire information about the Chamber of Secrets. I will not reveal anything specific but only warn you that the next time the Heir attempts anything, you will be told using this same piece of parchment._

_I will then send you the location of the entrance and hope you can come to assist me as soon as possible. There is no point trying to identify me using this means of communication; the Protean Charm was cast by another and I had others add several Hiding Charms on mine._

_I will ask you to keep our 'correspondence' to a minimum so as to avoid revealing too much about myself, though please let me know whether you will help me when the time comes.'_

Harry then had Minky pop it on his desk and hoped the old man would answer positively. He may have been a slightly manipulative old bastard, he remained a powerful wizard and preferable as an ally.

-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-

It was the next Saturday that Ginny approached Harry. He'd been sitting in the Library, enjoying their wonderful chairs, and had layed back for a minute after finishing his homework when something red entered his field of vision.

He turned his head in her direction and saw her blush rising on her face when he made eye contact. She'd certainly been showing more emotion in the last few days and it both amused and exasperated him to know the crush was back.

Harry was in danger of blushing as well if he didn't say something soon and he didn't want the girl to imagine anything about the way he thought of her. He finally decided to try and be like a big brother, _as if she didn't have enough of those already_, and that implied confidence.

"Come on, sit here Ginny," he simply said.

She gave the shyest smile, which was rather cute in his opinion, before nearly jumping on the chair next to his. She looked down at her lap and waited.

"I'm glad you decided to come. Have you been feeling better lately?"

She nodded "Fred and George helped a lot, thank you," she answered with a small voice.

"Yeah, I've seen you three together yesterday. They're good friends and apparently even better brothers, but you don't seem to be socializing much in Slytherin."

It appeared mentioning Slytherin was not the right thing to do because she shot him a small glare befor looking sheepish.

"Sorry I just hate it there. I don't like the other Slytherins in my year and they don't like me either. It would have been so much better in Gryffindor..." she sounded sad at that point.

"I know, it would have been easier with your brothers around, and I agree Slytherin isn't the best place to make friends, or even feel safe. But I'd like to be your friend, if you want that too."

_That_ was the right thing to say. She was suddenly excited, like she hadn't really believed it before, and she looked at him with her head tilted on the side when she asked: "I we're going to be friends, can you help me with my homework? I've had to work alone for two weeks and I know you have good grades!"

And he accepted. Her homework was really easy for him and he even had a nice time guiding her so she found the answers herself. Maybe he should consider teaching one day, or maybe he was just in good company. Because she _was _good company.

Also, it seemed she liked his company too, sometimes even too much. She'd gotten over her initial shyness quite quickly when he was being so open to her, and after a few minutes she started acting differently altogether. Harry noticed she'd try to touch him a little more than necessary, brushing their hands or legs when she moved, or laying her hand on his arm twice when she talked to him.

Ginny was indeed getting a little too comfortable with him; Harry had always wanted a little sister, but she was flirting if he dared say so, and Harry didn't think about her like that. He didn't think about _anybody_ like that yet.

So he did his best to avoid those little contacts she seemed to crave, and whenever she breached either his personal space or a personal subject, Harry took his distance until she went back to her homework.

He still had a nice time because she was a joy to have around and seeing her smile was so much better than what he'd gotten used to, and he couldn't help but accept when she asked if he could help her with her homework again sometime.

Of course, Harry didn't want her to think of it as some weird kind of date so he'd try to bring Daphne along.

And he did. The look on Ginny had been priceless to him when she saw him come with the usual blonde trollop, this time clinging to him more than she generally did. That was because Daphne knew what she was facing was her number one competition and she had to show she'd made her claim on the boy who accompanied them.

Actually, even if he had certainly not worded it this way, she understood he asked her to come so Ginny would be less invasive. Daphne was ready to fight for Harry as dirty as Ginny would, and if that meant holding his hand or even claiming his lap at some point, she'd do it.

Harry was as usual unaware of the happenings inside his best friend's head, though he had a good idea of Ginny's train of thought. In fact, when he led the two girls to a sofa in front of a table of their Common Room, he only put his arm around Daphne's shoulders to make Ginny understand this was certainly not a date.

There was one thing he didn't notice and another he did; he didn't see Daphne beaming at his actions, and he did notice he was rather comfortable in this position. Ginny could only alternate between glaring at her opponent in the competition and smiling at the winner's prize all night long.

Daphne even made sure to help her as much as she could just to spite the redhead even more; Harry had finished curing her of the depression so she considered it was safe to get on the younger girl's nerves a little. It was innocent fun, after all, and she finally understood why Astoria enjoyed doing this to her so much.

They made a habit of spending time nearly every day with Ginny, though Daphne never did without Harry and she didn't like leaving her alone with him.

Harry most of all enjoyed this new frienship and he'd even started thinking of her as his own little sister even if he was still aware of her crush. He just figured it couldn't last much longer when he didn't return some of her more pronounced affections.

Daphne also liked it when Ginny was around because Harry would immediately become a little more physical with her, not hesitating to put a hand or an arm on her shoulder or hugging her to say hello.

Ginny also had different reasons to enjoy the company. She of course especially enjoyed it when it was just Harry and her and the rest of the time didn't hesitate giving him a quick hug hello or abusing her touching privileges with him as much as she could get away with.

Harry, even if he was obviously wrapped around his best friend's finger, wonderful. He was always helpful, understanding, nice, and an excellent listener. With her bigger problems gone and Harry as her new confident, Ginny wrote a lot less to Tom.

Her diary had even expressed disappointment at being completely left alone some nights, though he liked the fact that she had finally gotten close to her personal hero and his favourite person to talk about.

Ginny was of course always delighted to discuss Harry with Tom although she had to refuse introducing the two a few times. Tom simply wouldn't accept the fact that he had heard too many things she couldn't let Harry discover.

She'd probably written thousands of lines on how she idolized him and the things she'd do to get him if she had to, and the things she'd do to him if she ever got the chance. Her fantasy romance was probably her most embarassing secret and Tom knew all about it: he'd never be given the chance to meet Harry.

All she had to do next was to keep spending as much time as she could in his company and wait for her chance to get him. Her biggest fear was that Daphne would develop her assets a lot earlier than her and get his attention before she had anything for him to look at. Not that she had anything against Daphne herself, but their rivalry prevented them from becoming too close friends, and in the end she'd have to remain yet another opponent in the quest to the sadly clueless Harry's heart.

-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-

Looking back, Harry understood he'd been silly to spend so much time planning how to steal Ginny's diary. It would have been too risky, and potentially useless while the simpler solution of actually talking to her had proven effective.

Harry was still glad in some way that his greatest fear was to lose control of the soul fragment. Or was it to fail his friends? Or lose them?

Or what if it was just about Daphne? Harry was jealous of people who had their boggarts turn into monstrous beasts or dark lords: at least those were straightforward fears. Harry didn't even know what exactly he was afraid of.

Although, when he did try to be honest with himself, he understood his fear had been to hurt Daphne. He'd come to care so much about his wonderful best friend that he probably wouldn't survive hurting her, or at the very least he wouldn't be able to forgive himself.

Anyone who tried to hurt Daphne would face terrible consequences, of that he was sure. Then again, anyone who hurt Ginny would face the same consequences. But it was different...

It certainly wasn't a question of time: Ginny had grown on him extremely fast with her likeable personality and complete acceptance of him. She was his little sister in all but blood, and also the fact that she obviously wanted have another title. Girlfriend.

No, if Harry had to have a girlfriend, it would be Daphne. As his best friend, he knew he and Daph would get along perfectly, and he had to admit his more frequent contacts with her were very nice.

Was that the difference? Did he think about Daphne like that? He didn't know yet but expected he'd have the answer soon enough. If he did have those feelings, he didn't know if they were returned; she did seem to enjoy the hugs and small touches too, but it could be for another reason. Did she think of him as her brother?

Harry wasn't entirely certain of the reason why, but he truly hoped not. Maybe he'd managed doing something not many teenagers seemed to accomplish in Hogwarts: making sense of his feelings before they hit full blast and it was too late.

-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-

Harry spent more time battling with his feelings than he'd ever admit during those weeks. Ginny's arrival in his small group of friends had surely messed things up, and perhaps helped him understand better how he felt toward his best friend.

Only one thing had been able to get his mind off of his frequent moments of self-questioning about his friends: _Do I fancy Daph? Does she fancy me? Will the way I feel toward Ginny change into something more as we grow up?_

It had been Dumbledore's answer on the charmed piece of parchment. Harry had had to wait for weeks before the old man had dared to answer, time he'd surely spent trying to make sure accepting was safe and trying despite Harry's warning to learn his identity. Even then the answer had been brief:

_'Although I find your lack of forthcoming regarding specific information worrying, I accept your terms. The school's safety is my priority, and if cooperating with you can ensure that, then I will patiently wait for you to tell me more. Until next time.'_

It was an hour before breakfast that Harry was woken up by his own warning wards. He'd had to renew them every few days but they had been worth it after all. He jumped out of bed, grabbing his father's Cloak, his broom, and only stopping to scribble _'Myrtle's bathroom'_ on the enchanted parchment before he took off in the direction of the Chamber of Secrets.

He flew confidently through the empty corridors, making 'whoosh' noises until he slowed down enough to silence himself with his wand. Still, he pushed his broom to its maximum speed whenever possible, brushing the stone walls at every turn. It took him only a minute to reach the bathroom's door and was surprised to find it already opened.

The Heir knew his unlocking charms, or so it seemed. Maybe a seventh year Charms prodigee? Or an intruder in the castle. Anyway, Harry did not lose time and flew straight through the door and immediately fired a stunner at the silhouette he found kneeling in front of a sink with the corpses of blasted snakes lying about the room.

"_Stupefy!_" he screamed, though the silencing charm prevented his target from hearing him.

With surprising reflexes, the silhouette whipped around and was only saved from the spell when it hit somehting the heir held in his... no, _her_ hands.

And then Harry took in the red hair, small frame, cute face and freckles.

Ginny Weasley.

And her diary had stopped Harry's adrenalin fueled stunner without so much as a shiver.

He paused in the air as Ginny switfly gripped her wand and started searching right through Harry, who was surprised by her empty eyes. She hadn't had that emptiness showing on her face for _ages_, something was definitely wrong.

Ginny being the murderous Heir of Slytherin, bringing her diary along with her... her diary which was opened on the first page and that had apparently not been written in. Something was very wrong.

Grateful his Cloak and silencing charm functioned perfectly, he quickly flew over her head and, once behind her, cast a second _Stupefy_. Her reaction speed was incredible then, as she spun, deflected the curse inches away from Harry and silently cast something powerful that he had trouble dodging, even while flying.

He'd _felt_ the mgic whizzing by as he flew over her again, and it was certainly not Ginny's magic, nor anything a mere student should have been able to cast. Dumbledore had better show up quick.

When he thought about it, he understood that the magic he'd just felt had been surprisingly similar to what he cast when the soul fragment had been active, which suggested Ginny was being possessed somehow by Voldemort himself.

The first problem was that the only thing she was holding was her diary, her _suspiciously_ empty and magic resistant diary, and she didn't have any history with the Dark Lord which meant she was holding... another soul fragment? The second problem was that she had abruptly started blanket casting frighteningly powerful spells Harry didn't want to get in the way of all around her, and only his broom and his natural agility on it saved him again.

Harry was able to cower away from the shower of potentially lethal magic until he was blocked by the door which she had just closed _and _locked with a flick of her wand. He only had split second before he'd get hit by something, and he used that instant to relinquish control of his wand to the soul fragment.

Immediately a very specific reflecting shield sprang into existence in front of Harry who could only observe and notice that he didn't feel as left out as possession used to leave him feeling. It was more like giving in to his instincts in a fight instead of thinking every move through.

He also noticed that he wasn't as powerful as he had been against Quirrell that night. Somehow his acceptance of the foreign soul had consequences he didn't completely approve of when the possessed Ginny started flinging curse after curse at her invisible but visibly shielded opponent.

It appeared that Ginny was also less powerful than Harry in his previous year's 'Riddle episodes', so he kept relying on good old Tom Riddle to fight back.

He flew around her while he defended himself and tried to stun her while she kept trying to kill him; having Voldemort back to the front of his mind let him recognize some of the spells she cast, mostly illegal and deadly curses.

Even with the advantage provided by his invisibility and mobility, he found he was losing the short fight. He even had to focus after some time to keep his movements under Riddle's control, and even then the Dark Lord was less efficient than he used to be. He was also only trying to stun his little sister, a level of control he realized he didn't have before, while she in return was trying very hard to boil his blood, liquefy his intestines, shrink his skull on his brain and even simply _Avada kedavra_ him.

Less than twenty seconds later he was forced to do a sloth roll to avoid a few spells and the next one had him abandon the broom altogether. Of course, he'd stuck the Cloak to the broom handle and not himself, which left him standing completely visible on the ground.

Seeing Harry appear out of thin air had shocked either the possessing fragment of Voldemort residing in the diary or Ginny herself enough to affect her in her current state. The result was that she stopped casting for a split second in which Harry sent yet another _Stupefy_.

Ginny was still able to deflect the curse at the same time as the door behind her blasted open. She turned around, shielded against the party-crasher Dumbledore's first volley of spells and fell to Harry's last stunner in the back.

When she was finally lying down on the ground, the two left standing just looked at each other before Harry summoned the diary out of the stunned Ginny's hands and cast a _Confringo_ at it in mid air. The explosion was powerful and sent the still intact diary straight into the hands of the Headmaster who caught it with some surprise showing on his old face.

Harry silently sat down next to Ginny and only then he talked to the other wizard:

"The diary was possessing her, and I recognized Voldemort's magic. Make sure she's not affected by it anymore before I wake her up."

The Headmaster nodded and complied, setting the object on the floor before casting some sort of bubble around it. The bubble's surface was still shimmering in Ginny's direction and a swish of Dumbledore's wand ended the movement.

"You can wake her up, I isolated the diary," he announced.

Before Harry could cast his _Innervate_, the old wizard spoke again:

"Harry? I will trust you with your friend. Make sure she is alright while I examine and destroy this artifact. Also, I thank you for calling for my assistance."

Harry only nodded and when his professor left the room he woke Ginny up.

"Harry? What's going on? Why is evrything -" she started before Harry interrupted her.

"Calm down Gin, everything's under control. I'm here, I'll protect you," he assured before grabbing her in a comforting hug.

She hugged him back without hesitation and after a minute she pushed him back just enough for her to speak:

"What happened?"

"It was your diary. It was the Heir and possessed you at times," she gasped and started moving around but he grabbed her with a stronger grip, "It's alright Gin. Dumbledore's taking care of the diary and you're alright. I'm here for you."

She started calming down and he held her for a few more minutes, occasionally whispering calming words in her hair. It was his duty as a big brother, and he was proud to do it.

A/N: Hope you enjoyed, please review/fav/follow, and don't hesitate to PM me for anything from questions to suggestions!


	10. Chapter 10

Albus Dumbledore had just had a very confusing morning.

First he'd been woken up by a piece of parchment making a whistling sound: his mysterious pen pal had just contacted him.

He quickly scrambled out of his bed, put on the closest robes he could find, his glasses and grabbed the parchment, wandlessly creating a small light. _'Myrtle's bathroom'_ was all that was written.

Dumbledore considered using Fawkes' flaming apparition to get there more quickly, but he didn't know whether it was a trap or not, and landing in the middle of it was not in his advantage.

He settled on having Fawkes bring him a few corridors away from the bathroom and walked the rest of the way.

He was at first extremely cautious but the distant sounds of spell fire convinced him to hurry until he was facing the door. His first attempt couldn't unlock the door and he realized a second later that unlocking it would take some time.

This was an emergency so he used brute force to enter, and found himself in the confusing part of his morning.

He recognized the youngest Weasley, and she was dueling a Harry Potter still dressed in his nightclothes. Seeing the kind of spells each was using, he helped Harry subdue the young girl; of course, it hadn't really been a surprise to see that Harry had been the one on the other side of the Protean parchment.

Five minutes later he was back in his office, studying an enchanted diary that had supposedly possessed the girl and given her the power of Voldemort at the same time. The words 'Tom M. Riddle" at the back explained the Voldemort part, and the revelation that it housed another fragment of Voldemort's soul completed the puzzle. It was a horcrux.

Once certain of his observations, he brought the diary in his experimenting room, set it on the floor and, with a small and controlled bout of Fiendfyre, destroyed it.

He was then left to wonder whether this was good or bad news. Yes, he'd destroyed one of Riddle's soul fragments, but it proved that he'd been able to perform such a ritual before he even graduated.

The bad news was that knowing Voldemort, he wouldn't have stopped with a single horcrux; especially not if one of the horcruxes ended up in the hands of a random student. Logic stated Voldemort would have made several, and at least one would have been completely secure, resting behind a set of lethal traps and magical trials.

But how many? Either three or seven, the most magically powerful numbers before seventeen, and he was fairly certain one couldn't fracture his own soul in that many parts. The soul fragment in Harry's head didn't count as it wasn't technically a horcrux.

A horcrux requires a certain set of enchantments on the host of the soul, whether it is a book or a living being, and those enchantments were nowhere to be found on Harry, which in turn suggested that Voldemort's soul was hurt the night he was vanquished, and a small part of it sought refuge in the first potential host it could find.

Any living being is capable of hosting a soul, and Harry's fresh wound on his forehead made for a perfect way in.

Was it three or seven then? If it was three, then there was one more apart from the diary, though that was only admitting the Dark Lord had made all of his horcruxes before his defeat. Of course, he now knew about Harry's soul fragment, so if he had planned on making only one more then he wouldn't perform the ritual again should he come back.

Dumbledore could only guess, and hope the answer was three rather than seven.

-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-

At breakfast news was spreading that Harry Potter and Albus Dumbledore had saved Ginny Weasley from the Heir of Slytherin. The Heir had been an intruder in the school and was no longer a threat.

The story was actually true and explained the absence of the two students involved in the incident and the four other Weasleys. The Weasleys had all flooed to Hogwarts to comfort their only daughter when they were told the entire story, and had then insisted on meeting and thanking Harry Potter in person.

The group that consisted of Molly, Arthur, Percy, the twins, Ron, Ginny and Harry spent some time talking on the grounds by the lake. Ron and Percy looked apologetic that they hadn't been able to help their sister and the former's dislike of Harry greatly lessened that morning. They weren't friends by any strectch of the imagination but the hot-blooded redhead easily kept his temper in check around who he used to believe was a future Dark Lord.

Molly Weasley, Ginny's mother, was especially thankful and insisted on how Harry had become friends with her daughter. From her behavior, it seemed Ginny wasn't the only Weasley woman who would like to see him date her.

They mostly had a good time and finally invited Harry to spend some time with them at their house, the Burrow, during the next summer. They'd tried to have him during the Christmas holidays but he'd already planned to visit the Greengrass family for those two weeks.

It was around midday that the Weasleys flooed back to the Burrow and everyone went back to classes. Ginny got a lot more attention from the girls of all four Houses, all of them wanting to know how she'd become Harry's friend and how heroic or romantic her rescue had been.

Ginny, of course, embellished the stories though she didn't even need to hint to kisses, the rumor mill took care of inventing those. When prompted for detail concerning the rescue, she said Harry dueled the Heir after the latter had knocked her out, and that his efforts combined to Dumbledore's were sufficient to overcome the Dark Wizard, though the Headmaster only provided a distraction: it was Harry who dealt the last blow.

As a result, Harry was once again portraited as a selfless and extremely powerful hero, a reputation that Harry knew he could make use of, though the exaggerated stories about him and Ginny were irritating.

To end those rumors he took to having the same behavior he'd adopted with Daphne when confronted to Ginny, only then he did it in any public space. Daph seemed to enjoy his little attentions as much as he did and did nothing to slow down the new rumors about Harry and her.

As time went by, Harry realized he liked the idea of dating Daphne more every day and hoped that she both returned those feelings and that something would happen over the holidays.

All the while, Harry still had regular meetings with Dumbledore to train in wandless magic and he used his talents in Defense to effectively train Daphne, Hermione and newly Ginny in warded classrooms.

He quickly understood that he was stronger and a faster learner in fighting magic than his friends but he still had fun helping them learn how to defend themselves. Ginny and Hermione also became good friends after some time and they often cooperated in mock duels against Harry or Daphne. As it was, Harry would generally win against any pair of opponents though he was helpless when the three of them ganged up on him.

Harry certainly enjoyed teaching and decided he'd look up the qualifications required for a position in Hogwarts. It was a long road ahead but he figured that with the fame and the help of the soul fragment it couldn't be too hard.

In fact, Harry did have the actual help of the second soul: when fighting or even looking up new spells, he'd occasionally get helpful feelings and he'd learned to trust his instincts, especially when they felt like they were coming from someone else's mind.

On the other hand, he found that he had trouble giving Riddle more control over his body; it was like they were merging and Riddle's new tamed state didn't allow it to wield great powers like it used to.

The dreams of Voldemort's memories continued and Harry progressed, mainly in combat magic but also the other fields, at an unnatural but very welcome speed. If he kept his training up Harry was sure he would one day be a force to be reckoned with, in the meantime he _was_ still a second year and had no chance against an adult wizard.

The last weeks to Christmas passed quickly in the company of his friends and with his filled timetable.

-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-

It was his second time in the Greegrass manor but it had'n't lost any of its splendor. He intercepted Astoria with a small hug when she excitedly flied toward him and had more formal greetings with her parents.

The first few days were as enjoyable as during the summer with two main differences: Astoria was less present when he spent time with Daphne, and the times she was there she would send them a few knowing smiles that left him wondering.

Obviously the young girl expected them to start dating in the close future, but did she know something he did not? Maybe Daphne had talked about him in a few letters, and he wondered if he could have a small talk with her someday.

There was one night when Daphne left with her parents to go to a formal dance with members of other prominent families and Astoria didn't go because of her age and behavior. Harry stayed at their home since he wasn't invited, though Astoria and him were under constant surveilance by the House Elves, which was the usual arrangement for when the adults were absent.

He decided to give it a shot while they were eating dinner, hoping he wasn't being too obvious.

"Say Astoria, can I ask you a question?"

She gave him a smile, "Let's play a game: we take turns asking each other a question and the answers must be truthful, all right?"

Harry knew the girl was devious but he had a plan, so he nodded and asked his question:

"What does your sister talk about in her letters home?"

"You, how she hates that the Weasley girl has a crush on you, and you," she said, smiling.

_That was straightforward_, he thought.

"My question now: is it true you killed a Troll, a Dark Wizard and defeated the Heir of Slytherin?"

_Easy one_, "It is true. What do you mean when you say she talks about me?"

"She likes you, she likes it when you put your arm around her shoulders, she likes sitting at your side when you're by the fire."

_Excellent!_

"Do you fancy her?"

"I do. Will you tell her about this conversation?"

"I won't if you treat me like a princess for the rest of the evening. You'll be my servant and if you're good enough I won't be demand too much."

_I knew she was devious_, "I guess I can do that."

"My turn: what would you do to her, given the chance?"

Harry gave her a broad smile and answered in Parseltongue. She was shocked and looked ready to bite him when he added: "Never said anything about answering in English, did you?"

"You're going to spend a horrible night at my service. Prepare to suffer."

She did try to be hard to please but his good will mollified her after the third time she had him prepare her tea and massage her shoulders. In the end she settled on using him as a seat by the fire so she could taunt Daphne about sitting in his lap before she did.

All in all Harry had a great evening. He'd confirmed that Daphne liked him, something he suspected since her confessions concerning the Mirror of Erised and from the way she seemed to enjoy it when they made skin contact, and Astoria had been funny when she played her role of princess.

She even fell asleep on his lap and he had to admit he'd rarely seen anything this cute in his life. Daphne and her parents nearly burst out laughing when they came home and saw that he was slowly petting the fast asleep Astoria's black hair. They took a few pictures before Nicholas levitated her to her bed, gripping Harry's robes all the way.

During the following days Harry was much bolder with Daphne, not hesitating to pull her in half-hugs when they were relaxing and her parents were out and Astoria wasn't sitting in his lap again, a place she never hesitated to occupy when she felt like it.

Daphne basked in Harry's attention and all three of them spent great holidays. Christmas and thr New Year came and went by without any incidents while Harry always made sure to give Daphne special attention. They also went flying a few times, and often one of the two girls insisted on sitting on Harry's broom while he demonstrated his most daring moves.

It was one of these times when Daphne shared his broom with him that it happened. They had been flying for a long time and started floating peacefully instead of racing about. From their vantage point they could perfectly see the manor in its entirety and the fields surrounding it; even though they were high up and the sun would soon be setting, they weren't cold: their cloaks and proximity ensured that.

When Harry stopped the broom he pivoted a little to see how Daphne was doing. She was already watching him and something clicked when they made eye contact; without a thought, both of them leaned toward the other and shared their first kiss. It was chaste and short but after they stared at each other's eyes, they started blushing and a giggle from Daphne ended the magic of the moment.

They never actually talked about it but the last nights by the fire before they had to return to Hogwarts were spent comfortably cuddling on the sofa while Astoria watched, smiling at the assumed romanticism.

-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-

The last semester was pleasant for Harry and his best friend who had just become his girlfriend. The rumor mill went full force for a few days when they came back hand in hand to Hogwarts, never sparing a thought to the people around them before making small displays of affection.

Many found that they made a very nice couple while others were jealous of or even badmouthing Daphne, spreading stories of love potions and magical enslavement. Ginny in particular was angry at Daphne but Harry had a talk with her only a few days after the start of they came back, explaining that there was something between them since some time in the previous year.

Ginny was still sad she hadn't been there a year earlier but after some time she accepted the truth and settled on waiting for an eventual break-up. If anything, she'd be there to comfort him should Daphne decide to dump him. In the meantime she'd do her best to be a good friend and try to milk details about their relationship from his current girlfriend.

Ginny discovered there her gossipy nature, always enjoying small details about Harry's attentions or how he'd spent time pampering Daphne during the holidays just to make her feel special.

Between classes, homework, training and the time he reserved for Daphne, Harry's last months before the end of the second year passed quickly.

Around the end of May a mandrake potion was used to revive the petrified Ravenclaw. Even though he would have to spend his summer working hard to compensate for missing most of his classes this year, he was glad to be alive and thanked Harry personally for taking care of the Heir.

It was on the last Sunday that Harry met Dumbledore again in his office, expecting more wandless training. He had made true progress in that area and could now levitate, summon or banish rocks three times as big as his fist with impressive speed, conjure small flames and small quantities of water, and once he managed deflecting a disarming hex.

Dumbledore had other plans for that day and welcomed Harry in his office with tea, indicating they wouldn't leave for the experimenting room this day. Harry sat down and accepted his cup though he didn't drink in case there was something more in the tea.

He didn't really think Dumbledore would have used Veritaserum or other powerful potions but he wasn't so sure about cheering or calming draughts to help loosen his mood and tongue a little.

Dumbledore opened the conversation:

"Harry, after the events of this year, I started wondering about some things. The most obvious one was why you didn't tell me more about the Chamber at first."

"Professor, I had my own reasons to do what I did and nothing more. I would prefer it if we were to change subjects," he calmly said, trying to keep his resistance to Obliviations a secret.

"If we must, though I would like you to promise not to hide anything that affects the school's safety from me. It is my duty as Headmaster of the school to protect my students and that means I must try to avoid you withholding relevant information."

"I understand and will try to be more forthcoming, although I cannot promise never to hide anything. If I ever am to judge it a dangerous idea to tell you something, I will not do it. Of course, like I did this year, I will always try to involve you as much as possible."

Dumbledore knew he'd somehow lost part of Harry's trust and he knew his power as a wizard was the main reason he'd even received the protean parchment.

"Speaking of which," the Headmaster said, "I would like it if we were to keep the enchanted parchments we used for further communication. The charms work was quite remarkable and they could prove useful in the future. I would suggest having the same student charm a few more so you can keep in touch with anyone you deem worthy, and maybe have him add separate columns for private communications instead of having everyone receive every message."

The conversation drifted to other potential uses of the Protean Charm before the Headmaster brought forth another question:

"What subjects did you plan on taking next year?"

Harry had already thought about that, and apart from Muggle Studies all seemed potentially useful. With all the things that had happened during his first year and a half in the Magical World, Divination could be useful; Arithmancy was required if he ever wanted to study advanced types of magic or even learn how to modify or create spells in the far future, and Ancient Runes were a very powerful type of magic if one had the determination to truly explore the subject in detail. Finally, care of Magical Creatures sounded like an interesting yet easy and slow-paced subject. he also knew Hermione was taking all available classes and Daphne was taking the same as he did minus Divination as she was rather certain she was not a gifted seer.

After hearing his answer, Dumbledore smiled and gave him something to think about:

"I was expecting that, you are after all extremely dedicated to your studies, and I will give you the same answer I gave Miss Granger after Professor McGonagall brought her to me concerning her decision to attend all classes. Some classes actually overlap, meaning it is impossible to attend both Magical Creatures and Arithmancy or both Muggle Studies and Ancient Runes the conventional way."

"When you say 'conventional', do you mean we would have to catch up on weekends and during the holidays?"

"Certainly not Harry, I would never encourage one to give up every ounce of free time for academic purposes. That solution wouldn't even give you time to do your homework, but you see, _time_ is exactly what you will need next year.

Usually, when a student has overlapping classes, he is asked to drop one but, when the student meets certain qualifications, an arrangement can be made."

"What are those qualifications? Do I meet them?"

"Academic excellence is required and Miss Granger, your good friend Miss Greengrass and yourself have reached it. The second requirement is more unusual though. Have you heard of the Ministry's Department of Mysteries?"

"Only heard the name."

"Those who work in this Department, and they're called Unspeakables because of their job's secrecy, experiment on misunderstood forms of magic. They study, among other things, Time, Death, Love and the human mind. The Unspeakables are all rather powerful and educated wizards and witches, and their recruitment starts during the Hogwarts years.

I don't mean they are going to try and train all of you, but they like to give the students they think of as potential future Unspeakables some additional opportunities. As some of the selected few, they gave me an offer to procure Time-Turners for you and the two other students I mentioned."

"What is a Time-Turner?"

"It is a device capable of bringing the one who wears it back in time. They are powerful and therefore restricted artifacts, although they do have their limits. For example, even if they can reverse time over more than a day, such repeated use can be harmful to an unorganized mind if the trips back in time are not carefully planned in advance.

Time as it is affected by Time-Turners is self-fulfilling: you cannot change something that has already happen. If you did not wake up to find a note written by your future self on your desk, then you cannot later go back in time to leave such a note on your desk for your past self to find. Doing so would create a paradox, and you do not want to get lost in the ripples of Time.

It is also recommended not to meet yourself when traveling through time. If you were to be handed one, would you be most careful with its use and use it only to help with your studies?"

Harry knew he had a lot to think about, but this was not an opportunity to miss: "Of course Professor. I would not use this privilege for personal purposes."

What remained of the afternoon was spent completing forms to allow Harry to carry and use a Time-Turner after Dumbledore gave him a more detailed description of its various limits and the consequences of its misuse.

Although he knew it was also a way for the old man to earn his trust back, Harry was still thankful for the privilege. He also intended to keep his word and not abuse of it, although he may another definition of 'for academic purposes' than others did. Of course, none of it would matter until the following year.

Not long before dinner, Dumbledore left with him for the Great Hall, also informing him that he was free to discuss the question of Time-Turners with Hermione and Daphne when he was certain he could not be overheard.

-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-

That night, as part of his usual Occlumency exercises, he decided to review his overall experience of the Magical World. In less than two years Harry had been accepted, nearly been killed three times, made friends, discovered he was host to an evil soul fragment, gotten a girlfriend, started assimilating said soul fragment and many more things.

He'd spent his first year in a world where his fame made his life easier while painting him as a target, in a school that did not provide the advertised safety and which was ran by a manipulative old wizard, in a House where you had to earn respect if you did not want to spend seven years watching your back.

He'd spent that year doing his best to adjust, taking on the role of someone he certainly wasn't. He'd strived to be a true Slytherin, and had only been himself in the company of his friends. Apart from the near-death experiences and pretending, it had been an overall thrilling experience.

His second year had been a completely different deal. Already, Harry had started feeling like he belonged in this new and wonderful world. He hadn't had to pretend half as much as he'd had to in his first year because of his peers' respect that he'd already earned.

Being able to act more like himself had allowed him to let out his more humane qualities and help a fellow Slytherin in need of help. He also realized that, in the end, it wasn't through a diary-stealing and very Slytherin move that he'd been able to reach Ginny; it had been using trust and a conversation.

It was true that a more Slytherin tactic had allowed him to stay in the game while enlisting the powerful Dumbledore for assistance, although of course he'd been exposed as the Headmaster's anonymous contact. As a result he'd certainly picked the old man's interest, and he didn't exactly want to get any more of his attention, though it had probably earned him a Time-Turner.

One he would put to good use.

His plan was only a rough draft of what it would have to be to properly function in the next year, but it was there; Harry had promised to only use it for academic purposes, and there were never more than two overlapping classes. And, instead of only going back one hour after those classes and rushing in the second simultaneous one, he'd live the entire day twice. After all, spending more time awake with more homework and only the same amount of spare time and sleep was certainly not academically profitable.

That way he'd be able to attend all of his classes while gaining plenty spare time in the process. Of course, he'd need to find new places to sleep for the second cycle of the same day, and at the same time a place to spend the free time.

After some thought he decided that the days he could afford not to use his Time-Turner, he still would; if he spent the extra time training himself and his friends, researching or doing some more homework then the purpose was academical.

With most days of his weeks doubled, Harry and his time travelling partners would age faster than their peers, and that was something to consider; if he still needed the Time-Turner in the following years, and since he didn't plan on dropping any course he certainly wouldn't have to relinquish it, then he'd appear much older than his supposed age around his fifth year.

But then, it wasn't exactly an issue: what he was doing was legal, people would take a long time to notice, and if it was gradual enough, most would only assume that some of them appeared older than their age.

All that additional spare time called for additional projects. Harry, from what Dumbledore had told him, should be able to start building actual Occlumency shields in his third year, and his own plan insured he'd be able to. Then, Occlumency called for Legilimency; he could try to teach Occlumency to his friends before learning Legilimency with them and they could all test each other's shields.

The next project was obviously more wandless training, something only he'd be able to do though, and if they still had spare time with all this, then he might consider one other: the Animagus transformation.

But those were only projects and would wait until he could enact his plan. In the meantime he'd have to convince Hermione that what he'd planned was perfectly acceptable, legal and within the rules of Hogwarts; not that he'd checked but excessive time travelling as a means to research more was certainly a first in the castle. Daphne would however certainly play along.

Before he tried to sleep, Harry decided he'd be proactive and called Minky. As usual the shy House Elf appeared without a word and with a questioning look on her face.

"Minky, this summer and only when you are not either resting or obeying another command, I want you to investigate Hogwarts for hidden places. If Slytherin himself decided to add his own secret room then maybe there are more; I'd like to learn about those. Come to me when you discover something, and if the other elves don't know anything helpful I want you to personally search the castle. Can you do that?"

"Yes Master Harry Potter Sir."

"Then go, I must sleep now," and he did only seconds later.

-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-

Once the Hogwarts express reached King's Cross, students came pouring out of the open doors. Most were excited to see their families again though they knew they'd miss their friends. Promises were made to invite and visit, and the young wizards and witches went home with hastily erected plans to meet their friends soon.

Harry in particular was anxious to see his friends again; in fact, he wasn't particularly thrilled to see his relatives on the other side of the portal to Platform Nine and Three Quarters. He'd already been invited over by the Greengrass and the Weasley families and would actually spend only the first half of the summer at his relative's.

Harry had certainly had a satisfying year and was looking forward to a time-travelling third year, a year he was adamant would allow him to train more than ever before, as well as spend time with his girlfriend. He was also surprised when said girlfriend shamelessly kissed him square on the mouth in front of her family, earning a laugh from her little sister and surprised looks from her parents.

Yes, only a month and Harry would be able to enjoy himself for a full year, hopefully one without near-death experiences, Dark Lords, possession by a foreign soul and, once he gave it some thought, time paradoxes.

-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-

A/N: Thanks for reading, please review and fav/follow if you liked it! Don't hesitate to PM me for questions or suggestions.  
The last updates were quicker than I expected them to be but the next few chapters may be uploaded a tad slower, though it will probably never take over a week.


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: Hey everybody, I just wanted to warn you that this chapter moves a little fast but I didn't feel like extending this on three chapters when the story doesn't actually pick up until fourth year. That's right, I'm still in what could be called the 'introduction' of the story, mainly because you can't have a story about a Hero, a Legend and a God when the God is still half-dead and the Hero is still a completely untrained second-year. Third year is the year Harry starts to truly stand out from the rest of the crowd, and I promise I'll make fourth year interesting!

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Harry spent a comfortable if somewhat boring summer at 4, Privet Drive in the near inexistant company of his relatives. Indeed the Dursleys had taken to pretending their resident wizard was nothing more than a distant dream while said young man enjoyed pretending he was locked in his room, when in reality his obedient House Elf provided him with food and mobility.

He'd also maintained an active correspondance with his girlfriend, Hermione and Ginny. Hermione was pleased to hear he had used his unhealthy amount of spare time to take care of his summer homework and read ahead while the two others were obviously looking forward to his visits.

Once the first month of the holidays was over he stepped out of the house and waved his wand when he was certain no one could see him. The Knight Bus appeared with the usual loud bang and Harry stepped in, asking for "The Burrow, Ottery St Catchpole, please."

This time he'd rushed in a seat before the acceleration could send him flying and, when he threw one last look out the window, he saw a big stray dog he hadn't noticed before. The sight brought back memories of the Mirror of Erised, in which he'd seen himself along with his parents, another man and a dog.

The stray was like an older, mangy version of what could only be his family's dog, but before he could give it closer inspection the Knight Bus left Privet Drive, heading at breakneck speed for the Weasley's home where Harry had arranged to spend two weeks.

-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-

Harry was warmly welcomed at the Burrow: Ginny rushed into him for a hug, Ron gave him a firm handshake, Percy gave him a professional handshake and each of the twins kissed one of his cheeks before picking him up by the arms and carrying him like a trophy inside the house.

There, Molly Weasley demonstrated where Ginny learned how to hug people and Arthur gave him a firm handshake. Harry, at this point, was starting to feel confident in his handshaking skills already.

For two weeks, they flew, swam in the pond, de-gnomed the garden, fought in a fierce a prank war, and played Gobstones and Exploding Snap and the occasional game of chess when one felt like losing to Ron.

All in all Harry had a wonderful time. The food was great and in wonderful quantities, the atmosphere was warm and friendly and, being Ginny's pranking teammate along with Ron against the twins, he was glad not to be the target of any of the female redhead's vicious pranks, which were fewer and farther between but generally left the twins properly humiliated.

There waere only two troubling events during the two weeks: the first was the time Harry saw a dog was watching him fly and, before he could get any closer to it, it fled in the nearby forest. The second one was a worried discussion between Arthur and Molly about an escaped convict he'd overheard. The man was called Sirius Black, which he recalled Professor McGonagall telling him was his father's best friend.

The fact that the Weasleys sounded particularly worried about him only added to his suspicions that one more man was after his blood, and he was thankful more than ever for the extra training his Time-Turner would provide him the following year.

Soon, the two weeks were over and Harry took the Knight Bus again, straight to the Leaky Cauldron to meet up with Daphne. She'd told him the Knight Bus could not approach their manor so Floo travel would always be faster.

Once again, just after asking for "The Leaky Cauldron, please," he noticed the dog was a few feet away from the window, and once again the Bus left too quickly for Harry to do anything about it.

The animal was starting to become worrying and he couldn't help but remember a snippet of conversation he'd had with bhis friends in first year.

_"I imagine wizards must be more superstitious than Muggles. Do they fear anything like black cats or breaking mirrors?" he'd asked._

_"It depends on whether the witch or wizard believes in Divination. Everybody knows true Prophecies exist but some belive just as firmly in lesser types of Divination, like reading cards or throwing dice. One of the most powerful symbols is the Grim, a big black dog: it's the Death Omen and as a result wizards tend to be uncomfortable around black dogs." Daphne had answered him._

Not being very superstitious himself, the only thing that disturbed him was the coincidence of the Death Omen appearing shortly after the escape of another would-be Boy-Who-Lived slayer. He resolved to just talk about it to Daphne: she had his absolute trust and he knew she'd be honest with him.

However he did not want to talk about it right away so Daphne didn't mention seeing a stray dog watching the pub's fireplace after he'd walked through it.

Harry spent the remaining month in the company of the Greengrass family, though he barely ever saw his girlfriend's parents as they were always busied by their jobs, the Ministry or other social gatherings they were invited to.

Every time the teenagers were left under the supervision of the invisible House Elves who kept trying to separate Harry from Daphne and otherwise did not care about Astoria spending most of her time harrassing him for a hug or to sit on his lap, his broom, or simply be the center of his attention.

The amazing thing about Astoria was that she managed to keep from getting too annoying. Harry had a nice temper and every time she came close to being a real pest she'd back off and allow Harry to calm down before coming back. In the end she was just about permananetly cute in her childish ways.

She was also extremely excited about starting Hogwarts the next year so she could spend more time with her sister and her 'new brother', a name that caused Harry to give her a very emotional and teary eyed hug which she thoroughly enjoyed. Meanwhile Daphne was softly smiling at her boyfriend's happiness. Even if he was a very powerful wizard with an evil soul fragment embedded in his head, feeling like he was part of a family was enough to make him happy, and that made Daphne like him even more.

It was less than a week before term started and the two of them were sitting on the couch when Harry decided to breach the subject that had been troubling him for some time:

"Daph? Have you heard about Sirius Black's escape from Azkaban?"

"Of course I have, the Prophet is having a lot of fun with the story, making fun of the Ministry while using fear to boost their sales... What about it?" she replied, obviously annoyed at the number one British newspaper.

"I think he may be after me; he was my father's best friend and betrayed my family to become the Dark Lord's right hand from what I've heard."

"Well that's certainly not reassuring, though you already have the Dark Lord after your blood and he hasn't been very succesful so far, not that he's even tried a lot. You said the diary only had his memories from before he graduated so it wasn't really You-Know-Who."

"Well I don't fancy having the two of them cooperating to get me. The next thing is, well I'm probably overreacting but, I think there's this big black dog following me around this summer. Like a Grim, actually," he said, attempting to sound as little superstitious as he could.

"And you've never seen that dog before? Are you even sure you always see the same?" she asked.

"Only saw it once before and it was in that magical mirror from first year. I think it was my family's dog, I'm sure it's always the same though now it's older and mangy, and since I started seeing him after the escape... It just sounds like Fate is telling me my family's problems are coming back. I just wanted your advice on this."

"Only advice I have is to always be on your guard when you see it, in case it really is a Death Omen and something is going to happen. When did you see him actually? Did anything unusual happen before or after you saw it?"

"I saw it three times: twice just as I was leaving in the Knight Bus, the third time it was watching me fly at the Weasley's. Now that I think about it it's almost like he wanted to hear where I was going next. That doesn't sound like an Omen. If I'm right then it would have no way to know I came here since it wasn't at the Cauldron."

Daphne started gaping at those words. She answered Harry's confused expression.

"Harry there _was_ a dog at the door of the Cauldron! It's following you! And no dog could move as fast as the Knight Bus... It doesn't make any sense."

"Yeah, either it's a mystical Death Omen that actually needs to follow me to know where I am, which is not very mystical, or it's a teleporting dog that understands human speech and has an unhealthy interest in me," Harry summed up the situation.

"Now I'm just confused," Daphne admitted.

"I'm sure we'll figure it out later. I'll just be careful in the meantime."

"You do that," she breathed before attempting to kiss him, only to find an irate elf standing on the couch between the two.

"If you's continue Mopy will have to tell the Masters you's is being touchy!"

-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-

On the last day of Harry's stay at the Greengrass manor he decided to go fly above the grounds, enjoying the speed of his Nimbus 2000 as well as the rare absence of a dead weight called Astoria behind him. He was zooming toward the ground, pulling up as usual only inches before he would have crashed and, as he pulled up, he saw the dog again.

It was watching him as usual from afar, close to the woods. Harry knew he'd run away if he was to approach it directly so he pretended not to have noticed the Death Omen staring at him, made sure he was holding his wand and kept practising various Quidditch moves.

The Grim was seemingly hypnotised by the movement as it didn't notice Harry getting a little closer with each maneuver, until he made an unexpected sharp turn and started heading straight for it.

The dog turned around but Harry was able to float in front of it, though out of reach, before it could disappear among the trees. If the thing could understand English then surely it knew what a wand was.

"Stop! I've bested a Mountain Troll with this wand so stop if you treasure your life!" he screamed, feeling a little silly and even wary at threatening a potential warning of imminent doom straight from Fate.

To his greatest surprise, the dog whimpered and sat with a tense posture.

"Are you sentient?"

The dog nodded. _What the hell?_

"You look like a dog I remember. Were you the Potter family's pet?"

The dog barked, _Was that a laugh?_, and nodded again.

"You're certainly not a regular dog. How can you be intelligent? How do you move as fast as the Knight Bus?" he asked as he realized the dog probably didn't have a way to answer.

He was wrong. After a movement from the animal that he interpreted as hesitation, the dog transformed into a man.

The man was kneeling, his hands behind and on the sides of his head, palms open and visible. He looked like he'd been starved for a long time, was dressed in rags and his hair and beard were black, long and extremely dirty. After a moment during which the man looked very nervous, Harry spoke up:

"You're Sirius Black, aren't you?"

"Yes," his voice was hoarse like it hadn't been used for an eternity, "James' brother in all but blood, and your Godfather too."

Harry's wand was still trained on him. He knew the man couldn't escape: he was unarmed and even someone with a very quick draw would have trouble hitting Harry on his broom if he could fight back. The wards on the property prevented Apparition and he genuinely did not look like he wanted to do any harm.

"Why have you been following me around? Do you want to kill me?"

"I'm protecting you, like the Godfather I couldn't be when I was in Azkaban. It's also good to see you on a broom, it reminds me of James..." his broken voice trailed off.

"You could have killed me many times. I guess I can believe you're not after me for the moment. Why don't you want to kill me? After betraying my family to Voldemort and losing your Master to me, that was the logical conclusion."

"I didn't betray James and Lily, Harry. I'd have let them kill me before I'd do that. No, it was Wormtail, that bastard."

Harry wasn't sure Black was making any sense anymore, but the next words were spoken with clarity:

"What do you know about the Fidelius Charm?" he inquired.

"Nothing. What does it do?"

"It allows someone to make a place secret, and hide the secret in one person. Only that person can tell the secret to others, and he cannot be forced to divulge it with Veritaserum or the Mind Arts. Your parents used it to hide, and they wanted me to be the Secret Keeper."

Harry was, at that point, listening and trying to find any inconsistencies in Black's story.

"But I was the obvious choice," he continued, "so I convinced your parents to make our other friend, Peter Pettigrew, the Secret Keeper. Nobody would have thought we'd choose him, so we did. I didn't feel so smart when he joined Voldemort and got them killed. I was so angry at him, and at myself, that I left you with Hagrid, even though I was supposed to be your Godfather, and I chased Pettigrew.

I found him in a Muggle street. When he saw me, he just shouted for all to hear that I had betrayed James and Lily, blew up a gas line to kill a dozen Muggles, then cut off his own finger and changed into a rat to escape in the sewers. You see, we were all Animagi. Pettigrew, or Wormtail, is a rat, your dad, Prongs, was a magnificent stag, and I, Padfoot, am a dog. Our other friend Remus was a werewolf and that's why we decided to become Animagi, so we could help him through the Full Moons."

Harry had a lot to think about, but he'd ask his questions first:

"Why didn't the Veritaserum reveal the truth?"

"No trial. I was stunned at the crime scene, and woke up in my cell."

If Black was telling the truth then their government truly was an organized idiot parade.

"Why not escaping sooner?"

"I saw a picture in the newspaper. It was after you saved the Weasley girl from the Heir of Slytherin, and somewhere in an article there was a picture of their entire family taken at King's Cross, the headline red something like 'Boy-Who-Lived heroically saves a life!'. I saw the youngest son had a rat, and I recognised the bastard immediately."

"Pettigrew has been pretending to be a pet for a decade? And how can you be certain?"

"He's a coward. If it was the only way to survive and stay in the Magical World, he'll do it. Besides he's never been too bright. As for how I recognised him, let's say I've seen him in that form many times and the fact that he misses a toe on its front paw helped a lot."

Harry was starting to believe the man, his voice madde it clear that he truly resented Pettigrew, and that he loved the Potters too much to have betrayed them, and yet his story was farfetched. Such a miscarriage of justice seemed unlikely after all. He wondered if it was a decade in Azkaban that drove him crazy and led Black to believe his own story?

"Listen, I'm willing to give you a chance. The problem is, I can't let you out of my sight until I'm certain that Ron's rat is an Animagus. I'm not allowed to use magic, if any adult sees you they're just going to send you to the Ministry, what am I supposed to do? Maybe I can just knock you on the head with a rock but that's lilely to leave some damage..."

"Does your girlfriend have House Elves?" Black asked, sounding hopeful.

"She does. I guess they _could_ stun or bind you, and unless they already have orders to tell her parents if they see an intruder, we could also tell them to keept it a secret for the moment."

They watched each other for a moment. It was Black's idea so it might be a plan to escape but apparently he didn't have a Portkey and he couldn't apparate around the manor so it did sound like a good idea.

"Start walking, I'm right behind you and remember you're one Blasting Hex away from losing your head."

He complied and Harry followed from a short distance, still floating on his broom. They made it to the doors and Harry instructed him to stop after they were opened. He flew backwards until he was inside, his wand still trained on Black, and shouted "Daphne!"

It was a tense minute before she arrived, tense for Harry in any case. Black was rather excited to have his Godson's limited trust and even giddy to meet said boy's girlfriend. Daphne ran in the entrance hall, a magazine clutched in her hand, and panting. "What is i- is that a wanted criminal?"

"I see you didn't need my tutoring to snatch a pretty girl huh?" Black joked.

Two glares reminded him his life was on the line but he kept smiling at the two teenagers. Harry quickly summed up the recent events and had her call an Elf.

"Mopy is her Mistress Daphy, oh who is the dirty Master?" the little being appeared.

"Mopy, can you stun and bind this man? And don't tell anyone, not even the family, that he's here."

"Mopy can do that but if Master and Mistress ask Mopy cannot lie!" she exclaimed before snapping her fingers.

Black was brutally brought against the ground and his body tensed, showing a full body bind was in effect. Apparently Elves could only stun people with brute force.

With that taken care of they had Mopy hide and watch him in a safe place before they walked to the Fireplace and Floo'ed "The Burrow!"

-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-

Molly Weasley loved cooking. She spent her days cooking for her family, rarely leaving her kitchen, which is why she was focusing on a roasting chicken when the sound of the flaring fireplace, a sound muffled by the Wireless playing absurd wizard music, was heard in the background.

She finished making sure her chicken wasn't burning before peeking in the living room, where she saw nothing, and concluded it was just her imagination.

Upstairs, a wizard and a witch who didn't really belong in the House were slowly moving under the Invisibility Cloak that never left the wizard's pouch. They understood there was no need to be quiet when they saw the rest of the Weasley clan flying in their garden through a window.

Harry, who knew the way, led Daphne to Ron's room where they found a rat sleeping on his bed. Stunning a rat certainly used up less magic than stunning a grown man so Harry merely accomplished the feat wandlessly and they went back down the stairs without alerting anyone.

They quickly Floo'ed to the Ministry and, once again, Molly Weasley's head stuck out of the kitchen with a questioning look.

-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-

Harry and Daphne wasted no time in the Ministry Atrium and rushed to the Magical Law Enforcement section of the underground building. One was a national hero and the other the daughter of a prominent family, which is why there was no hesitation when they demanded an appointment with the Director of the MLE to the receptionist.

The poor intern complied when she understood Harry Potter, who had vanquished at least three Dark Wizards so far, was the young boy currently glaring at her. She told them they could wait in an adjacent room while she informed Director Bones of their arrival.

"Now Harry, you let me do the talking and just stand there looking important. Director Bones has a very good reputation and as long as we don't sound like we're playing a prank she will certainly listen to us," Daphne instructed.

"Sure Daph," he shrugged, putting on his noble persona.

It was a thoroughly annoyed forty-ish woman who welcomed them in her office.

"Mr. Potter, Ms. Greengrass, I can only hope you understand I have work to do here. If your request is not a serious matter worthy of my attention you can fully expect being sent back to your parents much fastre than you arrived," she coldly announced, her monocle menacingly shaking.

It did look like she was busy, piles of parchment littering her desk, quills lying about, and even when she was talking to them, even looking at them, her hand kept signing papers and organising her workspace. The stress was making her jumpy but Daphne took it in stride.

"Of course Director, we are thankful of your attention and shall not waste your precious time. We came to bring you a key element to an ongoing investigation."

"What investigation?"

"The investigation regarding Mr. Black," she stated, drawing the older witch's attention.

"Do you have information regarding his whereabouts?" She sounded hopeful.

"No, rather we have captured someone linked to him, and that someone also turns out to be an unregistered Animagus. Do you know the Transformation Reversal Charm?"

"I do. Where is the Animagus?"

Harry removed the rat from his pouch. He sincerely hoped Black hadn't been mocking them, or that he hadn't turned mad in prison. He unceremoniously deposited it on the floor and waited. The older witch looked at the rather unimpressive animal before silently waving her wand at it.

After a blue flash, a short nervous-looking man was lying on the ground. A split-second later he was bound by tight self-fitting ropes, stunned again for good measure, and his hands were shackled behind his back. She also touched something behind her desk with her wand and, only ten seconds later, two men in Auror robes entered the room.

"But- if Peter Pettigrew isn't dead, was there a msitake at Sirius Black's trial?" Daphne asked with mock shock in her voice and a pointed look at Harry.

"No dear, he didn't have a trial, remember? We can only hope Mr. Pettigrew will have one, surely it would clarify the situation?" Harry answered with a smile.

Director Bones and the Aurors were not amused and yet they couldn't be mad at the teenagers in front of them. Instead they dismissed the two with a promise to have a long talk with them sometime later and started organizing a Veritaserum interrogation due as soon as possible.

-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-

Black woke up in a dark walk-in closet. An Elf was standing imperiously over him, a threatening finger pointed at his nose.

"Mister must stay unconscious. It is Mopy's duty," she announced, and he felt his head rise a few inches from the floor.

Before it could be smashed down for the third time, the closet's door opened to reveal two smiling teenagers.

"You can release him," his Godson's girlfriend said and Mopy happily complied.

Quickly Sirius left the enclosed space and sat down on the bed he found in the room. It was decorated somewhat girlishly, and he spotted several pictures of Harry around him.

"I take it Pettigrew's in custody?" they nodded.

"Okay, but what if the rest of my story was a lie? Maybe I wanted to kill Pettigrew but he escaped in rat form and stayed like that because he was afraid of me, and you just released a dangerous criminal in your room!" he joked.

His own smile faltered slightly when the other occupants of the room shared one, and it completely disappeared at the word "Mopy?" before he blacked out.

-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-

Once more Sirius Black opened his eyes, though this time he was in a sitting position. He opened his eyes only to be blinded by the light. When he attempted to shield his face from the offending brightness, he noticed his hands were stuck to the back of his chair.

The pain in his eyes certainly complemented his headache most nicely, and he was thankful when it faded, about a minute later.

He could finally see his surroundings, which were coomposed of a table with someone else sitting on its other side, blank walls, a blank floor and a blank ceiling. He automatically flashed his best smile and opened the conversation:

"Hello Amelia, it's been a long time since I've last been tied up to a chair by an ex. Missed me?"

The Director of Magical Law Enforcement opened her mouth to answer but was interrupted:

"You could have visited me in the last decade if you know? Would have saved you the trouble of tracking me down and kidnapping me, I mean, I was already in a cell!" he exclaimed lightly.

She sternly waited for the next witty comment and, when it didn't come, went straight to business:

"Your trial has apparently been delayed for over a decade. You may want to play along, otherwise it may be delayed for yet a few more years," she continued when she saw she had his attention, "so please take the Veritaserum and don't fight it."

The interrogation was straightforward, and less than an hour later Director Bones assured him his trial would be one-sided and he'd walk out of it a free man.

-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-

The holidays ended nicely apart, of course, from the scolding both teens received from the adult Greengrass's when it was discovered that they had been in contact with potentially dangerous individuals. It only served to confirm in their minds that had they warned her parents then Sirius would have been Kissed by the Dementors before sunset.

Director Bones had contacted them to inform them that both Pettigrew and Black had been questioned under Veritaserum and that the trial was scheduled for the end of the first week of school. Harry and Daphne immediately sent a letter to the Headmaster to have authorisation to witness the trial, Harry because it was his Godfather's and Daphne because it was going to be the most important one of the century and it was her duty as future Lady Greengrass to attend such an event.

The answers were negative though a particular line stood out in both letters: '_There is simply not the _time_ for you to be present at Lord Black's trial,_' and they could nearly read the wink at the word _time_.

The young couple was understandably excited when they met up with their friends and boarded the scarlet Hogwarts Express, eager to return to their favourite magical castle. During the ride, conversation was kept light between Harry, Daphne, Ginny and Hermione until the Time-Turners were mentioned.

"Ginny, there is something we want to tell you, and trust you not to reveal to anybody," Harry started. They'd figured he would likely have more luck at calming her drum if she was to start a jealous fit.

"Yes Harry? All three of you know about it?"

They nodded. "It's about the electives we chose for third year. In fact, we shouldn't have been able to choose the electives we did because, well, some classes overlap and you'd have to be in two places at the same time to study both, which is ridiculous, right?"

Ginny nodded hesitantly when the three others stared at her.

"So the only logical thing to do is to provide us with time machines so we can attend all classes, isn't it?"

She nearly nodded before looking confused: "Are you having me on or is Dumbledore _that_ crazy? Does time travel even _exist_?" she asked, her eyes darting between each of her friends.

Hermione picked up where Harry left: "What he's trying to tell you is the three of us will be given Time-Turners, they're devices capable of sending the wearer or wearers back a few hours in time. From what I've read it's unstable if you try to go back more than twelve hours, and everyday use of twelve hours long time travels can lead the Turner to break."

"Which you don't want," Daphne concluded.

Ginny sat back for a moment, apparently unsure whether she was being pranked or not.

"Why isn't it constantly used by the Ministry to catch criminels or just modify the course of time? We could have easily won against the Dark Lord with time travel: just wait for him to appear somewhere, go back a few hours, trap the place and sit back from a distance to watch with something to eat."

Hermione resumed her lecture mode: "Actually, Time is self-fulfilling, meaning you can't change something that has already happened because any change caused by time travellers is already being taken into account in our timeline. It means that you can't go back in time to give yourself the answers to a test if you haven't found a note with the answers before you took the test yourself."

Again Ginny was deep in concentration. Her expression had shifted from confusion to disbelief to more confusion to understanding to a malicious grin since the beginning of the conversation.

"Can I time travel with you guys? I've heard it's quite the bonding experience."

-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-

When the train reached Hogsmeade Daphne wondered why she hadn't seen her sister since boarding the Express. She'd honestly expected Astoria to join their compartment at some point but the black-haired overexcited little witch had remained unseen.

Daphne started worrying and it only grew worse until she saw her talking animatedly with a boy and another girl, both first years since Hagrid led them to the boats on the Lake. It was comforting to her to know that Astoria probably wouldn't have any problems making friends, not that she'd doubted that fact at any point.

The Sorting was calm enough, with Astoria joining Ravenclaw along with her first friends at Hogwarts. Daphne suspected she only wanted to be with her friends and didn't really care about where she ended up as long as she wasn't alone. The only person she knew that hadn't been able to convince the Hat to Sort where she wanted her even after begging was Ginny.

After the Feast, the three Third-years were called to Head of House Snape's office where he reluctantly handed over the Time-Turners after lecturing them again on the fact that dunderheads made for poor time-travellers thus backhandedly advising them to show restraint in their use of the powerful and certainly dangerous artifacts. That night all of them were so eager to use their new toys that none slept more than a few hours, and even when they did they slept with dreams of anticipation of the next day.

-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-

A/N: I know this may have not been the most interesting chapter so far and I'm sorry about that, it's just stuff I had to get out of the way. I'm planning on wrapping this year up in two to three chapters, after that the _real_ fun begins. So mote it be!

As always, please review and if you like what you're reading then fav/follow, also never hesitate to PM for questions, suggestions or else!


	12. Chapter 12

"Minky!"

A pop sounded on Harry's bed, unheard by the other occupants of the room thanks to a silencing ward. It was the first morning of the school year and Harry had woken up, the Time-Turner still around his neck, with great anticipation.

"Minky, have you discovered anything interesting?" the elf smiled.

"Minky has discovered the Come and Go Room! The Masters call it the Room of Requirement, it's a room that gives you anything you need!"

Harry was rapidly interested. "How does it work?"

"The Come and Go Room transforms to become what you needs! We use it to get cleaning supplies, and it is a very secret room. Headmaster Dumblydow doesn't know it!"

_How lucky can I get?_ "How do I access it?"

"It's on the seventh floor, Master needs to walk in front of the tapestry of Barnabas three times while thinking about what Master needs. Then you open the door!"

It was rare to see Minky that agitated; she was usually a shy creature, and yet there she was, nearly bouncing on her small feet. She had done a good job and she clearly knew it.

"Thank you Minky, you've done great. You can return to your usual duties, though keep an eye open for anything else I might find interesting."

She beamed before popping back away, presumably to the kitchens. Noticing it was still extremely early, Harry resolved to have a look at that Room so he could properly show it to his friends when they were up too. He silently made his way up the numerous and shifting stairwells, expertly finding his way in the maze-like castle. Cloaked explorations proved useful at times.

He reached the tapestry without incident, only raising an eyebrow at Barnabas's attempts to teach Trolls how to dance before he started walking again. In his experience Trolls weren't interested in dancing half as much as they were in clubbing the instructor.

Three times he walked past the tapestry, always focusing on his need for a place to train, sleep; a Nexus of sorts he could always return to when it was time to Turn Time. A door appeared and he opened it.

Immediately he was faced by four more doors, and quickly he saw each door led to a different environment. Behind the first door was a larger room fully equipped for training.

Thin mattresses covered the floor, targets were lined up a wall, filled bookshelves occupied another. The third wall was a display of Defense equipment, items ranging from Foe Glass' to swords and even armor. What brought a real smile to his face was that when Harry wished the books were more effectively protected from stray spells, a thick glass wall rose from the ground to defend the displayed tomes.

He wished for a table, a chair, ink and parchment and a quill, and all appeared before him.

Quickly, he put the finishing touch to his mental plan. On days that they needed to go through twice in order to attend all classes, they would first live it as if they didn't have overlapping classes. Then, around 9 P.M., they would retire to the Room of Requirements, all share a Time-Turner, and go back eleven hours.

The group would appear in the Room at 10 A.M. and sleep for approximately eight hours. At 6 P.M. they'd go back another eleven hours using another Time-Turner, thus appearing in the Room at 7 A.M., when they could spend their second day training and only leaving the Room invisible to attend the classes they had to or sneak food from the kitchen. At the end of the day they would return to their dormitories.

This way, they would only be present in the Room at 8 A.M., between 11 A.M. and 7 P.M., and at 10 P.M., each Time-Turner would be used only two days out of three, and some days they wouldn't use them at all, and not at full capacity, which left room for short emergency travels. With those precautions Harry was fairly certain the Turners wouldn't break and send them all at some random spot in time.

Of course, he erased the part about the kitchen when a certain painting appeared on one of the walls. It was an exact replica of the entrance to the kitchen, meaning the Room could help them move about the castle unseen. Another thought had many more secret passages appear with signs above them, leading to the dungeons, all floors, the professors' offices.

_I like this place_. _I want to spy on the Headmaster._

A window appeared, and behind it Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of the Hogwarts school of Obliviousness, was already up and working on a report. Harry could hear the scratching of the quill on the parchment, and he was certain even Fawkes had no idea he was being watched.

_This year's going to be a lot of fun._

He went back to the first room to have a quick look at the three other doors: one led to a complete library, the next to an outside and sunny area, perfect for relaxation, and the last to four luxurious suites.

Glancing at the time he noticed he'd left the dorms about fifty minutes ago, so he spun the Time-Turner once and hurried under the Cloak back to the dungeons; it wasn't a day that he'd need to live more than once and it wouldn't do to miss breakfast after all, so it was without regret that he used the artifact that carelessly.

_After all, I've spent my first hour of the day _learning _about the Room of Requirement; that's academical enough to me._

-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-

He reached the Common Room at the same time as Ginny, though the fact that she came from the dorms and he did from the dungeons had her understandably suspicious. A wink silenced her before she could enquire as to the nature of his early stroll.

Daphne soon joined them and all met up with Hermione outside the Great Hall for breakfast, the three Slytherins sitting at the Gryffindor table without a care in the world. They, of course, did not talk about the Turners in public but their excitement was noticed by a few, yet questioned by none.

The day was the average weekday until the end of classes when Harry led his friends to the Room of Requirement for a quick presentation of its capacities. They spent most of the night experimenting some more, discovering new secret passages to Hogsmeade, the Grounds and even a tunnel that led to the Forbidden Forest.

When they requested the largeest library possible, they ended up with one more complete than the school Library, though the tomes were mostly significantly older. They also found spare wands, a few invisibility cloaks, clothes, disguises, various types of body armor, wand holsters, trunks, and a wide variety of unindentified enchanted or cursed items.

The Room provided the information necessary to identify them but they decided to put off reading the twenty three books on the subject later in the year, maybe even in the later years.

The following day, all four stuck to his plan and had fun spending most of the second cycle of the same day training, reading, and having fun in the God-sent Room of Requirement. They agreed that they would only refrain from Time-Turning one or two days a week so the artifacts could cool off and at the same time they could keep having fun and working a lot more than normal.

Now that they had so much spare time in their hands, they gathered to decide what they would start working on first. First of all they agreed that Harry would try to teach them the basics of Occlumency at the best of his abilities; when all were mildly proficient at shielding their minds they would work together on the guides to Legilimency provided by the Room.

Animagus training would come in a later year, only when they reached more advanced types of Transfiguration in class. Harry's wandless training would be with the Headmaster as usual and all extra time they had would be focused on Defense or more personal research.

Harry also had something else in his mind, quite literally too. His connection to the soul fragment had only kept growing in the past weeks and, with the right focus, he could now starts exploring it in a way.

It was like shifting the entirety of his attention on that foreign presence, and then concentrating on finding something in particular: what he perceived of the soul fragment was a mist, and the rare times he could find what he looked for, the answer was fuzzy, unclear; but he was getting better.

It was also giving him instinctual help more often: when training or researching, he'd often get the feeling that something was helping him react the most efficient way or understand what he saw. Reaching a more conscious level of interaction with the torn soul was a large step, and a sign that one day he may be able to completely understand and control it.

The other effect of the evolution of the connection was on Harry's magical strength. It seemed to him that he was growing stronger much faster than his peers, and the 'growth spurts' of his magic seemed to coincide with the times he made breakthroughs in interacting with the Riddle in him. What he gathered from that was that the more he assimilated the soul, the more power and knowledge he gained from it, though apparently he wasn't exactly working his way to Voldemort's strength, it felt like he'd reach the middle ground between his own natural power and the Dark Lord's.

Being a powerful wizard himself, it meant that one day he'd be among the very best; that added to the entirety of Voldemort's knowledge and experience up to the night of his fall, Harry was confident in his chances to help in properly defeating him.

-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-

Later in the week, all four had finally settled in their new routine of travelling through time; one would have thought that it would always be a fantastic experience but apparently one got used to it faster than expected. It probably had to do with being surrounded by magic all day long.

The mood was good but Harry was starting to get tense with Sirius' approaching trial. He didn't even know the man, but it would truly be sad if the miscarriage of justice was repeated, and he did represent a way out of the Dursley's. Not that he was actually mistreated by his relatives, they were too scared of him for that, but there was no affection, no care, and he was fairly certain he and Black could grow to become much closer.

He would never be his father, but a decent Godfather? Probably.

In the end, Harry decided to exploit the Time-Turners a bit more and resolved that the moment he knew the result of the trial, he'd go back twelve hours to give himself a note. The trial would be held Sunday afternoon, meaning the results would be published in the Daily Prophet the following morning, so with the use of time travelling he'd know Sunday night. Theoretically.

That's why, between seven and eight on Sunday night, Harry was on edge, nearly snapping at his own friends whenever they tried to get his attention away from the table in front of him. The only thing that broke his focus was when he felt a small, sharp pain on the back of his head.

Harry flipped on the spot, leaving his chair at the same time, his wand raised and anger pouring off of him in waves. Daphne, who was sitting closest to him at the time, later explained she could literally feel his emotions in the aura of his flaring magic. Harry was indeed extremely nervous and was thus disappointed when there was noone to curse behind him.

He stopped questioning the weird event when, as he turned back again, he caught sight of a small piece of paper on the table: this time, all aound him could feel the joy and relief as he read 'Code Green', what he'd planned to write himself if Sirius was declared a free man.

The other occupants of Common Room only understood Harry's shouted "Yes!" and extreme happiness the next morning, when the owls delivered the papers. What they did not understand though was why Harry immediately left the table with a wicked grin.

Once he was alone in a broom cupboard, he whipped out his own Invisibility Cloak, having given the spare ones they'd found in the Room to his friends, and went back twelve hours in time. He did not know why he'd shot a stinging hex at his own head in the first place, but he had to respect the timeline and actually had a lot of fun at his past self's expense when he did.

He then spent twelve hours in the Room, alternatively eating, reading and training, before heading back to the Great Hall in time to see himself leaving his table. He followed himself to the broom cupboard, and waited a minute before removing the Cloak and walking back to the Hall.

As he sat down, blissfully ignoring his Housemates' stares at his odd behaviour, he saw a snow white owl, though not Hedwig, land in his plate. The owl had a letter for him.

'_Dear Godson,_

_As you may know by now, I have been declared innocent and thus free by the Wizengamot this Sunday. I write this letter to you to give you a choice:_

_As your Godfather I may take custody of you and become your legal guardian, which means you would spend the summers and the Christmas holidays if you wish at my home. Please let me know whether you would want that or not. In any case, please know that I still care about you, as I have since I've first seen you the day you were born._

_Your Headmaster has given me permission to visit next weekend so we could talk, please tell me if you want that too._

_I wasn't able to care for you in the past decade and you've been the one to free me; I merely want to return the favor._

_Sirius Black, your Dogfather_

_P.S: This is Kepler, my new owl. You can have him send your reply, If you don't want him to then tell him so: he's a smart fellow._'

And thus Harry's second week was also spent in anticipation, living some days twice pushing him even more on edge because of the extra waiting time it represented.

Of course, more time also meant more private time with Daphne, and that was maybe the reason he survived this week without throwing a fit and yelling at everyone; for some reason, he seemed to have decided that Sirius would be the perfect Godfather and simply could _not_ wait to meet him in proper circumstances. _He does represent a way out of the Dursley's_, Daphne thought.

And the meeting finally arrived, with Harry's excitement peaking when he read the words '_He's great!_' on a note he'd probably leave to himself in a few hours.

A few minutes in, Harry realized Sirius may never be a good parental figure, but he'd certainly become a great friend in no time. They talked girls, pranks, wandless magic fascinated Sirius, and even a little about their training.

Harry beamed when his Godfather promised him he'd help with the Animagus transformation and informed him that, as an ex-Auror, he'd certainly be able to teach him and his friends a thing or two.

Without any more hesitation Harry dragged him to the Room of Requirement, a room that made Sirius understand how much the castle still had to reveal, even after seven years of constant Marauding. There, after demonstrating what the room could do for a few minutes, they dueled, with Harry getting utterly crushed in just a few seconds; the only time he came close to winning was when he kept wandlessly pushing Sirius's shoulder-length hair in front of his eyes, a tactic that was nullified after his Godfather stuck it to the sides of his face with a quick spell.

Still the man was impressed by the potential his Godson had in creative dueling, a fighting style in which he could certainly become proficient after some time and serious training, considering the fact that he already had more raw power and mental focus than the average adult wizard.

At the mention of lengthy training, Harry decided that if he was going to live with the man then he'd have to let go of certain secrets and revealed the Time-Turner, which they used to go back a few hours in time under invisibility cloaks so that Harry could write his past self a short note that said '_He's great!_'.

Daphne, Ginny and Hermione joined the two in the middle of the afternoon and all had a nice time discussing their various adventures at Hogwarts while strolling on the Grounds. Before they parted at the end of the day, Harry and Sirius had a short, more serious discussion at the Gates of the Grounds.

"Sirius, what about the rat?" it was blunt but it set the tone he wanted for this talk, and he wanted honesty.

"It's weird. He's been interrogated several times, they've had enough to sentence him to Azkaban or even the Dementor's Kiss for about a week now, and yet they do nothing. They say they want to press him for more information, but I think someone's intentionally trying to gain time. I think they also tried to get me trialed as late as possible; Pettigrew was untouchable until I was pardoned... It's not a good sign."

"Do you think they want to organize an escape? It would mean that there are active and loyal Death Eaters in the Ministry," he thought out loud.

"Yeah, I think that's what they're planning, and yes there are loyal Death Eaters there, and high up too."

"Lucius Malfoy."

"Exactly. The problem is that if they're trying to free him, it means they know Voldemort is still around, and they're trying to gather what's left of his followers."

"Ok, just if you ever hear of an escape, contact me as fast as you can. We can use the Turners to get him back."

"If he's already escaped, you can't modify the past, right?" he sounded disappointed.

"No but we can, I don't know, put a Tracking Charm on him, catch him again later or something. Just do it.

"I will. By the way, take this," he handed Harry something wrapped in paper, "it's an enchanted mirror. I have its twin and we can use them to communicate. Say my name to activate it."

"Thanks, I used the same idea with parchment last year, saved my life. Umm... Can I use the mirrors to let you know when you can pass by for the duelling practice? You should use the passage in Hogsmeade straight to the Room."

"You do that, I won't be looking for work for some time so I should be available most of the time. I guess I'll see you sometime next week?" he asked, a little hesitant with his new place in Harry's life.

"I'll call you whenever I can see you. Bye, Sirius."

"See you, Harry," he said before apparated away.

-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-

Harry was comfortably sitting in a Common Room armchair, watching the show like everyone. It had started as a small scale argument between Draco Malfoy and Blaise Zabini, which was an interesting thing in itself: Blaise had always been more reserved and Draco had stepped back, and had probably been ordered to do so by his father, after constantly opposing Harry hadn't done wonders to his reputation.

Without any potential rivals left, the Slytherin Ponce had decided he'd stop at reminding everyone else of his last name every once in a while or whenever he felt threatened. In short, seeing those two in a verbal confrontation, especially one that ended up attracting the attention of most of the House, was an interesting turn of events.

Harry had been one of the very few who had heard everything: Malfoy had simply greeted Zabini with a nice "Get out of my way, Blood Traitor," after nearly tripping on the other's foot; of course, the answer was an elegant "Did I allow you to address me, Junior Death Eater?".

At that point the blond fully turned to face him: "You can stop celebrating Black's victory, the bastard is still going to pay for his treason."

"You just don't get it, do you? My family supported the man who was wrongly imprisoned," he said in avery cold manner, his eyes holding Malfoy's stare with ease. "We don't ignore evidence for the sake of a dead Dark Lord."

The last words were dripping with scorn, and Draco lost his thin patience, loudly proclaiming "He's _not _dead!", and a dozen heads then turned his way, some with curiosity etched on their faces, others bearing amused expressions.

Harry wondered for a second why the loud idiot seemed to be afraid of all the attention: it supported the theory that he was under orders to stay low, or maybe to avoid the subject of Voldemort's survival. In a House that was in good part in Harry's favor - he had bettered Slytherin's reputation after all, even if just a little - Voldie was a touchy subject.

Seeing his opponent's reaction to the stares, Zabini realized the extent of this opportunity and, with a split-second decision, pressed him: "Are you scared, Malfoy? Think about it, your name doesn't hold the sway it used to have, now does it?"

Draco opened his mouth to retaliate but the dark-skinned wizard left him no time to do so: "_A Malfoy bows to no one_, wasn't it? Your so-called 'Lord' been vanquished by an infant more than a decade ago and you're _still _bowing to him! Your father and you have dishonored your family, _you _have betrayed your own blood!"

That's when it went out of control, Zabini had spoken for everyone to hear, and everyone had listened; he'd insulted and spat on the Malfoy name, and Draco's reaction had the potential to change many things when the next generation came in a position of power.

Obviously Blaise was conscious of the fact that even Lucius Malfoy would have trouble intimidating the Lady Zabini; the woman was often quiet but her voice was always heard in Wizarding Britain.

If nothing major happened in the coming years, the balance of power between them could become permanent. He could evade the argument, and implicitly recognize the truth of Zabini's statement, thus recognising the other's line's dominance; he could fight back, try to find a flaw in Zabini's logic or simply return with another insult, which would escalate the conflict.

The last option was to settle the argument with a duel, but that would attract the most attention, an Honor Duel between the rich and influent Malfoy line and the even richer though less influential Zabini line, that would mean Ministry officials in attendance and, depending on the reporters and other potential major events, perhaps be headline material.

Draco had a slightly lost look that turned into a defiant gleam - _Not evasion, then_.

He snapped "You should be reminded of _who_ _exactly_ you're insulting there, foreigner: the Most Ancient and Noble House of Malfoy, second fortune in Britain, and my father Lord Malfoy is the personal advisor of the Minister of Magic. You've decided to step in the grown ups' playground, don't cry when you get beaten up," - _Escalation it is_.

Zabini merely rose his chin a little more and said, a soothing softness in his voice that was certainly meant to infuriate Draco even futher, "I know very well to what kind of Blood Traitor I'm granting my attention. You may need to be reminded that your vaults are not a threat to me, as the Most Ancient and Noble House of Zabini is the second fortune in Britain, and you obviously have quite a poor mind; indeed, you answer my accusation of betraying your name with a reminder of exactly what you've defiled. Why do you bow to a dead Dark Lord? Answer your betters!"

_Ha. 'Your betters', something straight out of Malfoy's mouth; escalation is certainly_ _entertaining._

Draco had no answer, and Zabini's words were too insulting, too _public_ and therefore of too much consequence, for him to ignore them. Out of reasonable options, he used what little he had left.

"You have gone too far, Zabini. I, Draco Malfoy, Heir to the Most Ancient and Noble House of Malfoy, challenge you, Blaise Zabini, Heir to the Zabini title, to an Honor Duel to settle this matter. Refuse, and the resulting Blood Feud will tear you apart; no fortune will save you."

_He ignored Blaise's full title, that's yet another pointless insult..._

"I, Blaise Zabini, Heir to the Most Ancient and Noble House of Zabini, accept this Honor Duel. The duel shall be to surrender, loss of consciousness, or to the death."

_Now, that's interesting!_

Everybody was gaping, and a camera's flash attracted attention to a corner of the room. When no camera was in view, most understood a Notice-Me-Not Charm was involved and the picture would make the headlines. There would potentially be a duel to the death, and since both involved families had only one heir left, the two third-years would be the center of attention for some time.

Some time later, Malfoy had stormed out with Crabbe, Goyle, Nott and Parkinson while Zabini sat back in his chair and resumed his reading. All Slytherins had pretended to return to to their own occupations but it was clear in the thoughtful, gleeful and fearful expressions that the implications were on overy mind.

If someone had stepped in, they would have probably passed out from the ambient tension. This was a time for the neutrals to choose a side if they wished to do so, and it was the perfect opportunity to rethink or strengthen alliances. If one of the lines had to be relegated to distant cousins and thus lose their influence, the consequences would be huge and shake Wizarding Britain to the core. This had the potential to be the turning point of the century; indeed, without the Malfoys, there would certainly be a new Minister, a major restructuring of the Wizengamot and a 180 degrees turn for the Hogwarts Board of Governors.

Actually, that would benefit Dumbledore _a lot_, and impede Voldemort's eventual return _even more_.

_Maybe it's time for me to get involved in the Slytherin power plays..._

-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-

It was a pleasant surprise when, during the following day's free period, Blaise sought Harry out for a request.

Harry was in the Library chair he'd silently claimed, with only the occasional unsuspecting first year using it and then cowering away when Harry asked - though his tone could be perceived as demanding - for it. He was doing personal reading since he knew he'd have the second cycle of that day to seriously train in the Room of Requirement, and the voice nearly startled him:

"Harry?"

The other had used his first name so he saw it fit to return the familiarity, "What is it, Blaise?"

"I know we haven't been talking a lot in the last two years, but we're on the same side, right?"

"Are you talking about Malfoy? Hell, I'd train you if you wanted me to."

Zabini only smiled, "I knew I could count on you," and Harry's eyes widened.

"I guess you've got me there..." a thought crossed Harry's mind, "when is the duel?"

"It's traditionally a month and a day away from the day it is accepted, so thirty days from today."

Harry had a wicked grin, "How would you like to get around fifty days of training before you have to fight?", he asked with a sugary voice.

"I don't think it's possible to delay it, and that would also get Malfoy extra time to train," was Blaise's hesitant answer.

"Oh, no, I'm not talking about that," he laughed and managed to smile even wider than he did a moment before, "do you know a Secrecy Oath?"

And Blaise, after performing said oath and an hour of shocking revelations, accepted to accompany Harry on his second cycle of that day. Of course, Harry called Sirius and told him to pass by around the end of the afternoon so he would have time to assess his new student and his Godson's other friends' skills in duelling. Malfoy didn't stand a chance.

-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-

A/N: One chapter left for third year, the next one will be summer + introduction to fourth (and eventful) year... at least that's the plan, I may change my mind at any given point

Thanks you for reading, please review and if you like this story please fav/follow. You can PM me for questions, suggestions or even discussion, and I'll see you next time!


	13. Chapter 13

A/N: Be warned, longest chapter so far ahead! I really wanted to wrap up the third year and most of what I've done in the first 70 000 words (including this chapter) was only really setting the stage for the interesting part. That's kinda long, I know, but I didn't want to put _all _of this in a 5000 words prologue, it just didn't seem fair, so instead I made full chapters!

As for the 'interesting' part of the story, it's for next time! And be aware that fourth year will heavily differ from canon, and also certainly be the longest so far. I hope you enjoy this long chapter, even if it's nothing more than a concentrated series of events and plot elements that'll leave you confused at the end. Also, I've found inspiration for the Mind Arts thory in there in another fic, though I have no idea what the name was. Sorry.

-o-O-o-

A few days later Harry left the room they'd been using with Sirius in order to parctise his personal training. The 'Nexus' now had 6 doors leading to identical rooms so that each of them - Harry, Daphne, Hermione, Ginny, and recently Blaise - had the opportunity to seek calm and isolation.

Sirius had spent most the morning training them with a focus on Blaise who had only ever received the most basic education in the field while the others had already been privately practising for a few years. Once he was alone, he thought back to his Godfather's comment about 'creative duelling'. It was apparently the way Dumbledore and Voldemort fought, and the reason why those two were fully capable of defeating several wizards simultaneously: 'creative duelling' reduced classical duelling to mere spell flinging competitions.

The Room had thus far been unable to provide him with particularly useful sources of information on the subject, at least until he formulated his thoughts, his need, differently: _I need to learn about incorporating Transfigurations, Illusions and unusual spells in my duelling tactics_, he'd thought, and three tomes dropped in his lap.

They were the three volumes of the same work, titled '_A Most Successful Duellist's Guide, Volume 1/2/3_'. Picking up the first one, he read the subtitle '_Duelling with your wands_'.

Skimming the pages revealed advice on improving one's wand movements and how it allowed the use of spellchains, the importance, advantages and uses of spare wands, and many spells that were chosen and sometimes modified to fit a creative duelling style.

The second one, '_Duelling with your imagination_', taught how to insert Transfigurations and Conjurations in fights, tips to exploit one's environment in a confrontation, multiple tactics such as the use of decoys, feints, small sacrifices, alternating fighting styles between subtlety and brute force, illusions, distractions and even more.

'_Duelling with you mind_' was presented as out of the reach of most because it required proficiency in the Mind Arts, and even a generally instinctive use of said Arts. Harry's growing ability to learn from the soul fragment gave him confidence that he would ba able to use at least some of the book's material.

It started with something most could achieve, silent casting, though it was much harder to use in a fight; silent casting required an organized mind and the chaos of a battlefield had a tendency to shake one's thought processes.

It went on to the uses of Occlumency, though it did nothing to teach it. The first use was the usual shielding of your own mind, preventing the opponent from reading your intentions in your eyes. A more complicated use of Occumency was making false information available, an excellent way to confuse a Legilimens, though, again, the chaos of a battle made it a true feat to properly employ such a strategy.

The last part covered the uses of Legilimency, from reading the other's thoughts and thus anticipating his actions in the hopes that he isn't faking thoughts, to projecting information in the other's mind. Projecting thoughts and ideas allowed one to heavily confuse an opponent, and it was generally advised to do so from behind the relative safety of a powerful shield, as it took the most extreme focus and simultaneously casting, unless it was completely automated and basic casting, tended to make projection unefficient.

Hours had passed already and it was time to return to the dungeons and finish this day for good; he knew with those three heavy guides that it would take years to master all of it, and unless he managed getting Dumbledore to directly train him, it was his best shot at becoming a potential threat to the Dark Lord.

-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-

Draco Malfoy sat sulking in his room at Malfoy Manor. He _hated_ being pulled out of school, even if it was just for a month; Zabini would certainly use that time to get more popular in Slytherin!

But, no, his father insisted on having tutors teach him duelling, like the other idiot stood any chance against a Malfoy. At first he'd considered to throw a fit and refuse the tutors' lessons but his father's threats of motivational and recreational use of the Cruciatus on him, with a quick demonstration of the spell's power, ensured he'd follow any and all orders for that month.

Apparently he was the only one who understood how good a move the Honor Duel was; although he'd expected the other to back off immediately, he was confident he'd crush the other when the time came. And what better way to shut the idiot up than to 'accidentally' kill him in the duel?

Draco was very aware of the rules surrounding an Honor Duel, and it turnes out that there was no true restriction on the kind of spell one could use, Ministry restrictions were ignored as the Duel was a matter between two lines, not a matter of the government.

That meant he'd only need to practise a few choice spells from the Malfoy Library, and there would be no way Zabini could block them all, not with most Dark curses requiring different shields in order to be stopped. Then, after Draco had dismembered, burned and eviscerated the foolish teenager, no one would ever dare insult him again.

A House Elf popped by his side, Tobby. Or was it Dobby? Gobby? He didn't know, and didn't particularly care to know anyway.

"Master Lord Malfoy wants young Master Malfoy in the training room, sir," the Elf announced, wringing its tiny, bandaged and slightly deformed hands in justified worry.

"Tell him I'll be there in a minute, and be quick about it or I'll have you iron your hands, slave."

Draco made a motion as if he was going to kick the worthless thing to get it to leave faster, and swiftly gathered his Dragonhide armor and wand before heading out of his room and downstairs.

The training room was located in the basement, and was the most heavily warded room of the manor: it was even capable of assisting in containing Fiendfyre, and very few curses could damage its walls. The room was also keyed to the authorized occupants, keeping unwanted visitors out and allowing authorized guests to wish targets into existence.

The Malfoy Heir stepped in the room, his wand holstered to his right arm and a complete set of Dragonhide armor under his other arm.

"Good day, Father. Will I need protection for today?" he asked evenly.

"You will not," was his cold, much too cold to be used among family, answer.

"Where is my tutor? They were told lateness would not be tolerated!"

"No tutor is coming today, Draco. This time, I'm teaching you, so be disciplined or I'll use you as my training dummy when I need to demonstrate a curse."

His father's tone was still cold enough to make Draco ill at ease alone with him. Before the Duel was announced, he'd always treated his only son like a precious thing, never to be hurt under any circumstances. Now the anger had broken the protectiveness and replaced it with scorn.

Draco was, on a certain level, aware that only his status as the _only_ heir saved him from serious harm or disinheritance. He gulped and nodded his comprehension.

"What will you teach me, Father?"

"I've seen you looking around the family Library. I know you've been researching the most potent curses you could find in there, and I felt that if you are going to start approaching the Dark Arts at such a young age, -"

"I'm not a child!" he snapped, forgetting to mind his temper.

"SHUT UP! You live a lie, Draco! You don't get it, no you don't! It is very likely that Zabini will win this duel, the kid has always shown comfort in his Defense classes, and I've been told that he has Potter training him".

Draco shrunk under his father's voice but continued, a note of arrogance defiantly remaining in his tone: "Potter's a fraud, Father. I'm being trained by the very best, he has no chance!"

Lucius Malfoy satin the closest seat and visibly deflated; he very rarely showed his exhaustion, or any other kind of weakness at all, and the sight shocked Draco.

"My son, I refuse to believe you to be a hopeless case... I know you hate, despise even, the Potter boy, but he _is _competent. He's slain a Troll, prevented the Dark Lord form stealing the Philosopher's Stone and retrieving a body, he's -"

"It was the Dark Lord?" he paled.

"Yes Draco, it was Him. And Potter foiled my own plans when he managed to stop the Heir of Slytherin, whom I personally snuck into the school. He is good, and he's training Zabini. I don't know for sure how that training's going to turn out, hopefully bad, but there is more that you refuse to understand."

He paused, looking his only son straight in the eyes, and drew a breath.

"The Dark Arts are powerful, yes, but they are dangerous. They allow one to cause great damage with little effort, they represent power. But there's a catch: while you cannot actually get addicted to the Dark Arts, you can develop a form of dependency to the power they bring you.

When you taste that potential, you will quickly wish for even more, and there is a lot more. You will certainly be drawn to the Unforgivables eventually, but they are not the Darkest of all, merely the most unacceptable. Theft of life with the Killing Curse; theft of will with the Imperius; theft of the will to live with the Cruciatus.

The true danger is only present with the Darkest curses and rituals there are, magics that are capable of tainting your very soul, sometimes even hurting, straining, splitting it. They bring you unimaginable power, but the cost is often too high to pay. Fiendfyre, for example, can eradicate entire forests and towns, all with a flick of your wand. But you have to truly wish for the destruction, and fulfilling that wish changes you, it makes you _need_ the destrcution rather than _desiring_ it.

There are countless other differences, and I will give you two examples of what abusive use of the Dark Arts can bring. Your aunt Bellatrix is, despite her considerable power and unwavering loyalty, truly insane. She has been changed beyond recognisition, and those changes have even affected her physical appearance a little.

The second example is the Dark Lord himself. The most powerful wizard in existence, certainly, definitely, but he was already that _before_ he changed. After hundreds of Dark rituals, curses, and practises, his soul is of the blackest shade, and much too mangled and distorted to be human. Voldemort is our Lord, but never forget that he not human, not anymore."

And the elder Malfoy spent the entire day carefully conveying the most basic knowledge of the Dark Arts to his son, praying it wasn't a mistake not to simply Obliviate the boy and continuing on with the regular training. Every few days he would check the younger Malfoy's progress in the Arts, always making sure he took care of his own safety before all else.

It was dangerous, even in such conditions, to explore this branch of magic so long before graduation, but he had to be certain Zabini would lose. The Malfoys could not afford to lose their place in Britain, or the Dark Lord himself would be most displeased.

-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-

"Any news on Pettigrew's trial?"

Harry was sitting in the Room of Requirement, taking a break from training to spend some quality time with his Godfather. They had requested a tropical beach setting and had passed in the kitchens to get a few choice cocktails; Sirius being an adult, the House Elves had no objections.

The older wizard sighed, and looked at the ocean in front of them. They knew it to be an illusion beyond the first few meters of water but it was a perfect one, it resisted the closest scrutiny and had the beauty of the original.

"Not yet. They're still 'interrogating' the bastard, as if a bottle of Veritaserum and two days wouldn't have been enough... And Lucius Malfoy seems to spend an awful lot of time in Fudge's office, probably advising him as always."

"I only hope you can warn us soon enough if it comes to an escape, I don't want to have to try and overpower the Time-Turner to get him... There's just not enough research on the subject!"

"Harry, according to you, how many people would be willing to experiment with Time-Turners if it's just to write some book about it? The general idea is that if you play by the rules, there'll be no accidental time travel," he laughed lightly.

He turned his gaze to Harry, and a more serious look settled in his eyes.

"Besides, you're _not_ playing with Time just to catch Pettigrew. He's a right bastard but he's not worth risking your life over, just remember that."

-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-

Blaise sat up, efficiently woken up by Harry's _Ennervate_.

"You do move fast, mate," he breathed.

"Calling me 'mate' won't make me go easy on you, Blaise. You have a duel to win in two weeks, and I know you know that Draco won't go for inpacitation, he'll go all out with the Dark stuff. All I can teach you is how to block said Dark stuff, so you're going to get up and I'll cast some more at you."

With the knowledge that it was for his own good and, after all, he _had_ been the one who asked for this, though he couldn't remember why anymore, Blaise reluctantly stood and, after overcoming the wobbly feeling his body gave him, turned to his ally, instructor, and now friend.

"Where did you even learn thhose curses? That's the kind of thing you'd find in an old family's Library, and you doin't have access to those... The Room did have some stuff on the Dark Arts but I read up on it here like you told me to, and not half of what you cast isn't explained or even mentioned. How?" he thought aloud, and his voiced gained a somewhat desperate tone around the end. Of course, Harry suspected _that_ was an act.

Also, he wasn't going to tell him about the soul fragment, secrecy oath forcing him to keep everything he learned in the Room a secret or not, especially if he also explained how he was starting to learn from it.

Harry had, at first, avoided 'asking' the soul about the Dark Arts but, with Blaise's life kind of depending on it, he'd found out that Voldemort was more forthcoming with information of that field. Was it because of his extensive knowledge of those Arts, or was the fragment still, despite having been in a subdued state for more than a year, hoping to turn Harry Dark? He didn't know but fully intended to keep his wits about him and watch himself carefully.

He also counted on his friends and Sirius to keep him in check, and in return they trusted him with the dangerous magic in the first place. He wasn't afraid of Blaise getting corrupted by the Dark Arts since he was only learning the counters, the only offensive spell he'd been taught being a reflective shield.

"By now you should know I can keep my secrets, Blaise. Now stop whinghing, and shield! _Quassatio_!"

Blaise raised the wrong shield however, and an expression of terror barely had the time to cross his usually composed features before the magic that hit him confused his own, completely obliterating any chance he had of asting anything else and causing him to sway for a moment, his balance affected too, before he fell down.

Hary dispelled the curse and stunned Blaise before summoning an armchair and having Minky bring him a Butterbeer. The other wouldn't know that minutes had passed before he was woken up, and Harry had to appear unwavering at all times to set a good example for his student.

And he had a reputation to live up to, that Butterbeer was not for fun, it was for _duty_, or so he told himself anyways.

-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-

Nearly two weeks later, Lucius appeared in the middle of the Ministry Atrium. It was still very early in the morning, so not many were around, but one person did notice him. The elder Malfoy certainly didn't look like he was just out of bed, his appearance perfectly under control as always.

He imperiously made his way to the Minister's private elevator, and the wards recognized him as a frequent guest who had been keyed in on Cornelius Fudge's orders. Thirty minutes later, he returned to the Atrium and left the way he arrived, by Apparating straight to his Manor.

In a corner of the large room, a cloaked manwent for the closest secluded spot, hastily erected a few privacy wards, not enough to stop the determined but enough to let him know if a determined decided to try his hand at ward-breaking, and pulled a small mirror out of his pocket.

"Snuffles," he spoke, and after a minute the reflection changed to show the recently freed man's face.

"I told you I don't want _that_ codename, and to call me 'Glorious Mastiff'! I'm the one paying you here, just you remember that."

"You're the one paying me but _I_ am the one spending absolutely fantastic days sitting about in the Atrium, waiting for an inbred sucker to come, so I think I deserve some antipathy. By the way, you might want to hear that Lucy paid another visit to Fudge this morning. I have no idea why but he did."

-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-

At 10 A.M. Harry, at Blaise's side, entered the modified Great Hall. It had been a month since the latter's intense instruction had begun, though they did actually spend fifty-five days training, thanks to the magic of Time-Turners.

The Great Hall was filled to the brim with the five tables gone and replaced with a small duelling stage, warded to stop most stray spells and curses with a team of professionals present to stop what passed through, and countless rows of elevated bleachers for the spectators.

An uninformed wizard could have hazarded the guess that it was all designed for a Duel between national champions, if not for the change in banners. One side of the Hall had banners representing the Malfoy coat of arms, the other side's sporting the Zabini coat of arms.

All spectators had already arrived, including a dozen reporters carefully selected by their editors, a few talent scouts, most of the Hogwarts staff and students, and the Minister of Magic himself.

Harry stepped to the side while Blaise walked over to speak with his mother, and saw Draco stepping in from the other side of the Hall. At his side was Theodore Nott, and the second mimicked Harry's actions while Draco talked to his father.

He noticed that Draco had changed a little during this month out of school. More precisely, his eyes had changed, for they were more aware of his surroundings, a little stronger too, and they were overall stronger. It also didn't escape Harry that Draco tended to look anywhere but at his father, and when the conversation forced him to, he did so with fear.

Clearly, he had been promised a grave punishment should he fail, and Harry hoped the ruthless politician wouldn't be too hard on his own son. Draco was, after all, his sole heir, so it wouldn't do to break him, now would it?

Malfoy and Blaise stepped to the platform, the magical barrier becoming slightly and shortly visible when they passed through it.

There was an exchange of formalities, pureblood culture nonsense that Harry ignored for it had gone from 'irritatingly formal formulations' to 'impossible to understand ancient English', and instead studied the two.

Draco's stare was still hard, and focused, his body tensed to reach for his wand. Blaise was slightly more relaxed, knowing that being too tense could hinder his mobility, though his hand remained in the correct position to quickly draw at all times.

Both of their stances were good, and Harry felt a tinge of pride when he watched his 'student', even though everything he had seen so far had been taught by Sirius. The formalities were suddenly over, and the commentator announced the fight would begin at his next call.

Everyone, especially the two most concerned teenagers, tensed at those words, and the anticipation was near palpable until the word "Begin!"

Draco was the fastest draw and Blaise, proving he had taken his training seriously, responded adequately by preparing a quick and basic shield instead of attempting to cast faster than an advantaged opponent.

When he saw the curse that left the blond's wand however, Blaise instead sidestepped it and saw his shield getting obliterated in the corner of his vision while he started his own attack. Draco had already started on the next offensive curse though, so he chose a concussion hex that finished with a downward motion, ducking to see Draco's spell flying over his head as he finished his own.

Draco chose to block it, mobility clearly not his strong point, and Blaise went used the time to go for something that was harder to block, the Drilling Hex, which was supposed to tear through most magical protections though it didn't harm organic matter, merely pushed it away.

The Hex was dodged however, and both opponents decided to start a spellchain at the same time.

Draco's was a terrifying flow of Dark curses, all weakened by the silent casting but highly dangerous nonetheless, especially in such numbers, while Blaise alternated stunners, bludgeoners, drills, and the occasional summoner to attract Malfoy's wand or robes, thus impeding either his casting or movements.

With the platform saturated by offensive magic, it became a game of dodging everything the other sent your way while still attempting to maintain your own chain. Blaise truly was the better dodger, and his spells were simpler to cast. On the other hand, Draco could afford to get partially hit by the occasional Drilling Hex, rendered useless by the lack of shielding in the fight, but part of the other's only spellchain.

It moved extremely fast but lasted only seven seconds, because Blaise managed to secure a bludgeoner on Draco's wand arm, though at the cost of choosing to get hit by a curse he recognized, one designed to suddenly and heavily increasing bloodflow in the target's eyes, thus, causing intense pain and temporary cecity.

The catch was that this spell, hastily cast silently by a non-professional and after a tiring spellchain, lost a great part of its potency, so Blaise only felt a manageably painful pressure in his eyes, and saw red for a second. Harry's training had involved getting hit by the occasional curse and keeping fighting through the pain, so he was able to ignore the sharp one at the same time as he could see again.

When both had recovered, a second later, they started casting again, but this time Blaise's reflective shield sent the other's fire cutter back, nearly severing Malfoy's off-hand when he raised it to protect his head from the potentially lethal curse.

Blaise used a second to shake his head when he had an aftershock of the curse that had hit him, and Draco, in his pain, contemplated a frightening thought.

He saw himself ruining the family's reputation, disappointing his father; he remembered the instant of agony, one that he perceived to be eternal at the time, when the elder Malfoy demonstrated the Cruciatus on him for discipline.

He'd been promised _minutes_ under the curse if he failed, something he was certain would break his mind, and if he was to survive with his mind intact, then he had no doubt the Dark Lord would finish him himself. He'd used to smile at the thought of Lord Voldemort torturing an arrogant Mudblood or two, but putting himself in the victim's place...

Out of despair, forgetting the rules in the case where there were spectators, he decided to cast the one unblockable spell, the spell that had only ever failed once before: the Killing Curse.

"Avada Kedav-" Blaise's stunner interrupted the words, but everyone had heard the incantation, and none had the slightest doubt left that the intent had been to kill.

Largely unnoticed, Lucius Malfoy's gloved hands strengthened their grip on his cane, which contained his wand. The Torture Curse was on his lips and he started broadcasting his anger at those closest to him when he strode to his only son, who was laying on the ground, unconscious, dishonored and dishonoring.

-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-

"Congratulations Blaise, you did exactly as we taught you!" Harry exclaimed happily, close to settling his career choice on becoming a Professor, preferably of Defense Against the Dark Arts.

"You and Sirius were the best teachers, mate! I owe that to you," was Blaise's reply.

"Still, I can't believe he tried to kill you, the little..." Ginny huffed.

Sirius walked into the conversation and raised his hand in a calming manner, saying "No worries, Flitwick and McGonagall had the platform enchanted to automatically elevate itself in the path of Killing Curses, and physical barriers _do_ stop the thing."

All nodded. "I wonder if the ponce is going to lose a hand or not," Hermione mused.

Harry had a look around before replying, "I can see Madam Pomfrey looking for him, but I think he's already gone. His father must have left with him as soon as possible, probably couldn't stand all the negative attention."

The conversation was interrupted by the arrival of the reporters and Ministry officials hoping to congratulate or interview the day's winner, and even then Madam Pomfrey caught him by the shoulder and dragged him to the Hospital Wing. The most injured one had escaped but she wasn't done with her job yet.

Harry's laughter weakened when the everyone decided instead to congratulate and interrogate _him_ as the winner's second and rumored trainer, and as the Boy-Who-Lived of course.

-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-

Draco was sent on the cold stone floor of the manor head first. He'd been woken up by his father the moment they reached the castle's gates, and the Apparition hadn't been gentle, especially an instant after waking up.

He ignored his father's feet moving in circles around him as he cradled his near-severed hand, bathing in pain with the broken arm and impact to the head in addition. Lucius, however, decided to attract his attention with a sharp kick in the side.

Draco let out a surprised yelp and his father started talking, his voice a blur of disappointment, fear, annoyance, but mostly anger and scorn.

"You have failed me. You have failed your name. You have failed your _blood_, Draco, you worthless idiot!" and he sent another kick, in his hurt arm this time. He ignored the whimpers and the tears, the first since that Cruciatus a month ago, coming from his son, and continued speaking.

"I warned you, I trained you, I've been teaching you how to behave for your entire life, and not only did you invoke a trulic idiotic and ancient tradition out of anger, you then proceeded to be beaten by another kid, and when I thought you couldn't sink any deeper... You had to cheat."

He stopped walking, hit the half-severed and now dead hand of his son with his cane, and retrieved the wand concealed inside of it. Draco was still clutching the limb, as if it would simply reattach itself, but the curse that cut it had been a Dark curse in nature, designed to make healing harder.

After that long, there was no hope of reattaching it anymore.

Draco was suddenly lifted off the ground by magic and sent into a nearby wall. The impact shook his ribs and made him choke on his own saliva. When he looked again at his hand, his father waved his wand and finished cutting it off. The hand fell limply on the ground as Draco screamed and cried in pain, shock, fear and anger.

"Stop crying, you weak idiot! _Crucio_!"

The boy shook and screamed against the wall for ten seconds until the curse was lifted.

"If you can't stand a few seconds of torture, you'll never last in the Dark Lord's service: he punishes his Death Eaters with torture, Draco, he'd break you in your first week. I'd do you a favor to kill you right now. _Crucio_!"

There was one thought running wildly through Draco's mind, barely clear to him through the greatest pain he'd ever felt. It was the realization that he had made wrong choices, that Voldemort and his father were nothing but bastards who deserved death.

He understood he had to get away from it all, to run from the pain, or else he'd lose his mind, and he would _not_ allow that to happen. Then the pain intensified, and after twenty more seconds of true torture, he fell to the ground, next to his hand.

The absence of the pain allowed him to formulate a few more thoughts. He had to run, but he'd get revenge, because he'd been severely wronged, and he knew who was responsible.

His father, of course, and Voldemort, two men with no respect for him, not enough to refrain from torturing him.

Blaise Zabini, for beating him in the Duel.

Harry Potter, for training Zabini, and because without him, he'd never have had to defend his standing in Slytherin.

Sirius Black, because his trial was the start of the entire mess.

All would pay, dearly; but first, he had to find a way out of this mess.

"_Crucio_", and all coherent thoughts were replaced by unadulterated agony.

-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-

Harry was surprised to hear Sirius's voice call him from the mirror this late at night.

"Sirius? What is it?"

His Godfather looked panicked in the magical device, "Pettigrew. They used the duel to try him in secret, only the members of the Wizengamot were warned and even then it was only this morning. He got lifetime at Azkaban but one of the Aurors who escorted him was Imperiused, he stunned another, freed the rat and together they got rid of the fourth Auror who escorted him, they found the imperiused one unconscious for some reason," he ranted.

Harry's gaze focused, "How long ago?"

Sirius looked down. "A little over twelve hours ago. I'm sorry Harry, I'm sorry I couldn't warn you any sooner."

Harry only discarded the mirror and ran; they had used both his and Ginny's Time-Turners to get Blaise an extra day to relax in the Room before the fight, so only Hermione's Turner would be able to bring them back to the morning.

He mounted his broom and raced up the castle , opening the doors on his way with his wand. It took him over five minutes, even at that speed, to reach Gryffindor Tower, use the password Hermione had given him, and get to her dorm room.

Everybody he passed in their Common Room was too surprised when they saw someone on a broom soaring overhead to react, and he was already in Hermione's room when the first scream was heard.

Hermione was sitting next to her trunk when he dismounted at her side, and he didn't give her the time to ask anything, "Give me your Turner, it's an emergency!"

She hesitated, nodded, and lifted the chain to pass it around Harry's neck.

"We need to go back thirteen hours. Are you sure you want to come along?" he warned her, because even if he had one hour left on his own turner, time-travelling while time-travelling was known to occasionally make someone just disappear out of Time, never to be seen again..

"YOU ARE _NOT_ GOING BACK THIRTEEN HOURS!" she shouted, not going to allow him to play dangerous games with Time.

Harry grabbed her arms, held both of her wrists in the same hand, and forced the device above her head; she managed to push him back but he was already turning it and, when she grabbed his hand to make him stop, he vibrated.

Harry had started vibrating slightly, the Turner heating up in his hand, and after a few seconds where normal time travel was instantaneous, Harry disappeared, only to reappear back in the same place.

This time, he was alone. He produced the Cloak from his pouch, covered himself with it, mounted the broom and flew to the closest professor's office, McGonagall's. The older witch was already in the Hall at that time, and when he struggled to unlock the door, a voice of instinct helped him overcome the wards placed on the room.

_Thanks Tom_.

He ran in, grabbed lit the fireplace, threw the nearby Floo Powder in it, and stepped in, saying "Ministry Atrium!" out loud.

He stumbled out of the fireplace, into the Ministry of Magic, where a clock helped him locate himself in Time. Apparently the Turner had not been able to send him back thirteen full hours, because he was only about twelve hours and twenty minutes before he'd use the Turner that night.

Harry didn't really know where to look for the rat, so he went in search of the courtrooms, the amount of time spent in the elevator infuriating to him. He then flew through the corridors until he finally heard loud voices in the so far half abandoned building, there had been hundreds of wizards and witches witnessing the Honor Duel.

The voices belonged to a group of well dressed Wizengamot members, and the words 'Azkaban' and 'Pettigrew' stood out of the conversation. Knowing he was on the right track, he flew right into the courtroom the last of them had only just exited, and the door opening when no one touched it inspired a few curious remarks, though Harry heard none.

He was already on the other side of the large room, and flew through the only guarded corridor he found leading out of the courtroom. After some time in the corridor, he came to a stop in front of a door as he heard a voice announce "...ing Point, Azkaban Island!"

Harry rushed in, stunned the only Auror still present in the room and threw Floo Powder in the lit fire before stepping in.

"Flooing Point, Azkaban Island!"

Nothing. He threw some more powder.

"Prisoner Escorting Point, Azkaban Island!"

Still nothing. More powder.

Then he thought about the fact that Azkaban _was_ actually an island;

"Docking Point, Azkaban Island!"

And he was spat out on a dirty wooden floor, the Cloak slipping off his shoulders, and with the sounds of a spellfight emanating from the closest door, which was still ajar.

He ran through it, saw a rat scurrying away from the four unconscious bodies of Aurors, lifted his wand, and had to turn away from his target when one of the bodies moved. _The Imperiused wizard, _I_'m the one who knocked him out!_

Harry had the advantage of mobility against the Auror who still layed on the ground. The fight was rather short, with Harry not hesitating to brute force his way throught his opponent's shields before stunning him twice with two different spells.

Harry barely noticed the ease with which he had just beaten a trained Auror in his rage, and screamed when he saw Pettigrew had managed to escape and Summoning Charms didn't work.

-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-

Cetus Fleming hurried as he stuffed all the paperwork he'd been assigned to manage back into his magically expanded and lightened bag. It was only a few minutes before the Honor Duel between those two heirs, two kids who would one day be some of the leaders of the nation, judging from their heritage and precocious willingness to get involved in the political game.

He stepped out of the courtroom on the heels of the Wizengamot members who had received the very early and short-term notice of Peter Pettigrew's trial. The short term part had apparently been some kind of security measure, though if you asked him, Cetus would tell you it only gave potential accomplices more time to organize a break-out or an attack.

In the end, everything went well, so he decided it may not have exactly been such a bad idea after all.

_Hey, I just closed that door, didn't I?_

Cetus looked warily around him; no one else had noticed the door swinging open, and there _was_ a dangerous criminal in there. He hesitated between going to see the Duel or maybe warning an Auror.

_Must be nothing, really._

And he left, going to the Atrium to Apparate at the Hogwarts Gates.

-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-

It took Harry the better part of a week for him to calm down, and the week after that before his friends could convince him not to go murdering Lucius right away. Of course, they hadn't said anything about _hurting_ him, but he refrained from sending a snake to bite and paralyse him at his own Manor anyway: he kept that idea in store for later use.

The training was certainly, apart from the presence of friendly faces, his best way to calm down; blasting away dummies with Pettigrew's appearance somewhat lessened Harry's thirst for blood, and it always helped take his mind off things when he started researching this or that, or helped a friend learn a particularly tricky piece of spellwork.

Harry also redirected his anger at the soul fragment, and spent more time than ever before exploring it for knowledge and power. His constant curiosity as to why exactly he could 'communicate' with it in such a manner led to the Room dropping a book on his lap again.

'_Darkest Magics_' was the tome's ominous title, stitched in deep green letters on a cover of heavy grey leather. A quick search of what could be related to the soul fragment revealed there was a Soul Magic section, along with Bone Magic, Blood Magic and Binding Magic, and the darkest magic covered by the Soul section was something called a Horcrux.

A Horcrux was apparently created in a ritual that required the murder of an innocent without regret, and it allowed the wizard or witch to anchor a fragment of his or her soul to an object or living being, and as long as the Horcrux remained, only death of the body would be possible, as the spirit would remain on the physical plane.

From what he gathered, his soul fragment couldn't have been the product of a ritual; why would Voldemort use Harry as a Horcrux, when all either wanted was to kill each other? It made no sense, though not much about the night of Voldemort's defeat made much sense anyway.

Apparently, knowing more about the nature of the Horcrux helped Harry in his attempts to 'read' it, and in the months that followed, he noticeably gained in power, started dreaming more fragments of the Dark Lord's earlier life, and classes became incredibly easy, as he frequently only had to read or hear of something before he'd instinctively 'remember' it, even though it came from another's memory.

That year he decided to stay at Hogwarts for the Christmas holidays, because as tempting it was to go with Daphne, he'd come to realize a few months earlier that he still had much to learn. He had to be faster, more powerful, to know how to track down someone else's magic, how to fight back when people like Lucius Malfoy could break the law and bribery protected them.

There was also the matter of the now out and about Peter Pettigrew, someone who would almost certainly seek the Dark Lord out, and, or, attempt to kill Harry. Therefore, he settled on staying where he was to use the tremendous amounts of free time the combination of the absence of classes and the use of his Time-Turner provided to meditate, all day long.

Harry was only seen wandering the castle a handful of times, and even then he only made sure he _was_ seen, in case people started thinking he was gone. He spent countless hours hidden deep inside the Room of Requirement and in his own head, progressively learning from the Horcrux, with only the occasional visit from Sirius to have an actual conversation.

He looked for Occlumency, Legilimency, non-addictive Dark Magic, fighting techniques, Voldemort's fighting style and favourite strategies, and anything else he found useful. His greatest deception was that he couldn't find anything about Voldemort's Horcrux, for it was obvious he may have made one, or any other way to immortality Voldemort had used, as the fragment seemed to protect that knowledge like it would its greatest secret.

Harry knew he'd one day be able to get past those defenses, but it may very well be the last thing he discovered from the Horcrux.

With his restrained range of activities, even Turner-elongated holidays passed quickly, and soon Daphne, Ginny, Hermione and Blaise were back from their respective homes, bringing with them some life that Harry found he'd been missing in the previous weeks.

However, Harry was still as motivated for his training as he'd been since Pettigrew's escape; the frantic rythm of two days of training a day that they had gotten used to continued, with Sirius' occasional appearance to help out.

It was a day when the Dogfather was absent, or rather coaching their past-selves next door, that Harry brought up a subject he found important.

They had all been sitting at a large table to help each others out with their homework, but had finished that a minute before.

"Before we leave for the night, guys," he started, drawing the others' attention, "I want to tell you about something, so you can sleep on it and maybe give me an answer tomorrow."

He looked around, and continued when Ginny prompted "You could also just get on with it!"

"Over the break, I've become quite good at the Mind Arts - don't ask how, Blaise, it's like the Dark stuff. The thing is, to learn how to protect our minds, or even invade another's because I do trust you with that skill, we'll have to practice on each others, which involves occasionally breaking and entering someone's head."

They nodded hesitantly.

"So, if you're not too keen on having someone present right now poking around, even if it's by accident, in you memories and thoughts, tell me tomorrow. The others, if any of you agree to that of course, we'll make a bonding oath, maybe an Unbreakable Vow since the Room was able to give me the instructions, not to reveal what we see unless it can save a life."

There was more nodding, and already Harry saw that most weren't looking forward to mind intrusions, except maybe Daphne, who apparently trusted him fully. Hoping for the best, he followed the others out of the Room, under their Cloaks just in case, and they parted for the night.

Another thing about that week was the fact that Draco hadn't been seen back in Hogwarts again. His father hadn't communicated on the subject with any reporters, only threatened their jobs or lives, and after a few days it became unlikely that the absence was for medical reasons: a half-cut hand was usually reattached in less than a day, especially when cut off by an identified curse.

-o-O-o

He was disappointed. Only Daph and Ginny had agreed to being taught Legilimency and Occlumency, while Hermione was too private and Blaise wasn't enough at ease in the group yet to get involved so much.

Of course, Harry knew he was lucky to have the opportunity to teach at least two of his friends how to defend their minds, and he _did_ give the two others basic manuals on mind shielding, but it was different.

Harry sealed the two girls in the Vow, and each of them sealed Harry and the other. When they were all done and away from Hermione and Zabini, Harry started explaining the basic principles.

"If I had to describe it, I'd say it's simple and hard. The concept and idea of Occlumency is simple, applying it takes months at the minimum before you can hope to reach a decent level. For the moment, the instructions in case of mental intrusion is close your eyes, look away, and, or hex the bastard," he started, scanning their faces to search for comprehension.

"Now, the first thing you need to do is _clear your mind_. It means abandoning all thoughts, so that when someone gets in your head, he'll find himself in a slippery place full of nothing. A Legilimens is capable of using any of your thoughts to 'climb' deeper into your mind and from there, travel from memory to memory or thought to thought until he has what he came for."

Ginny spoke up, "So our conscious thoughts are some kind of link between the world and our brain, and... if our mind is clear, then..."

"Then the Legilimens will have no way in. Of course, a Master Legilimens will poke at your mind until it reacts, thinks, and then use _that _thought to get in. Or, he'll implant a fake thought in your head, and when you think about it, he gets in. It's very hard to stop a Master, you see."

Both girls looked positively sick at the thought of someone unexorably penetrating their brains to read them, it was as close to rape as one could get without physical interaction. Harry continued with a quiet, soothing voice.

"So, relax, calm down, abandon your thoughts. Clear your minds, but keep your eyes open. I will give you a few minutes, then lightly probe your suface thoughts. You may feel something, but do not react to it, just slowly back away from the sensation, without thinking about it. It has to be instinctual, like backing away from fire and danger. No thinking, just retracting. You can start."

Harry observed their faces as they slowly breathed in and out, and their eyes blanked a little in their efforts to leave nothing for a potential intruder to grab onto. Over five minutes later, Harry waved his wand from his lap, whispered "_Legilimens_" while pointing at Ginny, and he reached for the one-way connection he'd just created between them.

He found himself in a rather clear environment. The feeling was weird but he knew it from Voldemort's experience, like floating and being aware without perceiving. It also took some skill to be able to 'move' in a mind, to progress in that unusual setting.

Ginny had made a good effort, but not very far from Harry, a few strands of thoughts were in reach. Slowly, Harry made his way there, and started folowing the tendrils back into Ginny's mind. Quickly, she became ware of his presence, and immediately other thoughts invaded the place, thoughts of panic, fear, other, weaker thoughts that told her to back away from the presence, but those were unheard, and Harry found it incredibly easy to go deeper in her mind.

He stopped and left her mind when the first memory, one of a time when she'd been talking about him with the twins, came up. As both their visions focused again on reality, he made a motion for her to stay silent, and instead turned his wand to Daphne.

"_Legilimens_," he whispered again.

His girlfriend's mind was different; it felt like a more organized environment, but she had less results when it came to clearing her mind, as he heard stray thoughts of anxiety at having her mind invaded, while others claimed their trust for Harry. He slowly reached for the tendrils, and it seemed that she wasn't even aware of his presence up until the moment when he lived the first memory.

It was an unembarassing one, of playing with her sister at the Manor. Harry pulled out and told them both "It was alright for a first try, but it was still easy to get in, and remember that you were in a relaxed state; in actual conditions you would've been panicking, angry, afraid, repulsed, and every single one of those feelings is a way in for the intruder. Keep that in mind and practice those," he handed them a few parchments each, "every night before sleeping. It'll help a lot, and also try to keep your mind cleared, as much as possible and at all times.

"Thank you for doing this Harry," Daphne wmiled, and Ginny nodded at her side.

None knew why they had kept their voices low even after the exercise, but they enjoyed the relaxed atmosphere for a few more minutes, until they decided to get some more homework done.

-o-O-o-

The rest of the year passed without incident, and Pettigrew wasn't heard of or seen at all. In their six months of training, both Daphne and Ginny made significant process with their Occlumency, though Harry could still break into their minds in a few minutes at most.

Draco's whereabouts were still a mystery to all, and it

Blaise had integrated quite effectively in the small group, and all five were sitting in the same compartment, chatting the trip away. When the train reached King's Cross, Harry looked throught the window and was happy to see a healthy Sirius waiting for him on the platform.

It was going to be a good summer.

-o-O-o-

Peter was in a weird situation. It had taken him months to learn that a black shade had been murdering both animals and humans somewhere in Albania, and after that, weeks before he actually met the Shade.

But he wasn't disappointed, only unused to speaking with his Master when he was possessing a local wizard. The man was shorter than average and had a limp, but his beard and features dictated respect: the man had grown up the hard way, though it certainly didn't help him fight Voldemort's intrusion of his body.

Once in control, Voldemort had transfigured his clothes into his usual black robes, and only then had he deigned to address his faithful - or, rather, scared follower.

"Wormtail, at last you have sought me out," the local's strong voice came out colder than it had been before.

"Yes Master, I am your faithful servant. I have escaped from the Ministry's incompetent hands, and come to serve you!"

"This is good, Wormtail," he praised, "I shall only punish you for waiting over a decade..."

"But, Mast-"

"_Crucio_."

-o-O-o-

A/N: I know I said this chapter would cover the summer too, but I swear it was getting way too long for me to continue. My chapters have always been averaging 5000 words, I wasn't going to write one with over 10k without a very good reason. Of course, the interesting stuff is _still_ coming up in the next chapter, no worries here!

Thank you for reading, please review and if you like this fic, favorite and follow too; don't hesitate to PM me for questions, suggestions, or discussion, and see you next time!


	14. Chapter 14

The days of redecorating 12, Grimmauld Place turned to weeks of stories by the fire and cold Butterbeers, and the time came for Harry, his godfather, his friends and his girlfriend to attend the Quidditch World Cup.

All had a wonderful time, the quality of the Irish teamplay stealing the group's breaths away, and Viktor Krum's raw talent bringing some of the honor back to Bulgaria. This game became the subject of many conversations in the time that remained until September the first.

When he arrived at King's Cross, Harry started finding it suspicious that there hadn't been a _single _attempt on his life, plot or any other type of complication: the break was refreshing, and yet it gave the close future an ominous silhouette, as if nature, or even Fate, would take it upon itself to bring balance to this boy's life.

It _did _seem Fate intended to have a say in Harry Potter's life sometimes.

Thus it was a slightly wary Harry who met up with his friends and left his Godfather behind, though he fully expected to see the childish man again some time in the next week, in the Room of Requirement.

-o-O-o-

_The Triwizard Tournament... that's new_.

The announcement quickly brought Harry's feeling of impending doom back to the surface, and the guarantee underage wizards couldn't participate did little to calm him down.

At his side, Daphne observed her boyfriend's growing nervousness: he kept readjusting his seat, checking his surroundings, and paid very little attention to his food during the entire Feast. A plan based on the Room, a comfortable setting and some alone time with him was designed and, after dinner, brought to fruition.

It did help with the nerves, but Harry was still mindful to remain aware of his surroundings at all times.

The first class with Professor 'Mad-Eye' Moody reminded him a little of his attitude since the announcement on the first.

When one of the man's eyes wasn't darting in every direction, the other one was. The rare times both were still, it was hard to keep your cool under the intense gaze of an oversized, crazy and very light blue eye, and a more natural but still frightening second eye.

Classes with Moody were unsettling.

The knowledge of the fact every single one of your movements was seen and under the scrutiny of a professional Dark Wizard hunter got every student ill at ease.

The knowledge of the fact he could also see through your clothes was just... creepy.

And then, there was Malfoy: the blonde idiot was still missing, and no communication whatsoever had been made concerning him. It was suspicious, and Harry certainly disliked all this week's suspiciousness.

-o-O-o-

Lucius Malfoy sat back in his straight armchair, enjoying the warmth of the fireplace, coupled to the strong taste of the Firewhiskey he'd been having most days for some time.

The man still attended his functions at the Ministry, and played the political game with the same zeal he'd always made a point to show, but once home... Narcissa and him were different.

Draco's disappearance had been a problem. The boy attempting to escape hadn't been a surprise, but the success was something else entirely. With the after effects of the Cruciatus, no wand, a few broken bones, significant blood loss, only one hand and no wand, it was a wonder he even had the will to try.

And he'd done it. And Lucius was still replaying the night in his head, attempting to find the flaw in how he'd locked up his heir.

A magically sealed door and barred window, no wand...

The glass of Firewhiskey flew through the room, into a portrait whose occupant screamed in agony as the magical alcohol started burning the paint. Broken glass clattered on the floor, though Lucius couldn't notice such a detail as he swung his armchair into a window and screamed "Arty!".

The Elf Apparition's 'pop' sound was unheard through the screams of a hurt portrait and the crash of wood two floors down, outside the manor.

"Master called, sir?"

The bony House Elf's voice half-broke in the middle of the short sentence, his thin limbs quivering in the knowledge of what usually followed his Master's fury.

His head turned with speed and the blue eyes gazed deeply at the small creature, blond hair flaying wildly for a moment.

"Did you... or did you not..." he started, anger threatening to turn the words into a curse.

"... free my son?"

Arty fought against his bond. He pushed his magic in a useless and doomed to fail attempt at Disapparating to somewhere safe, away from the dangerous Master, but that was it: he was still Master, and he had to answer truthfully.

"Yes, Master. Young Master Draco ordered me to -"

"_Avada Kedavra_. You stupid animal!" the voice picked up into a scream again, and a kick threw the limp body to be engulfed in the fireplace.

It wasn't even that bad that his only heir had run away; the brat had stolen severalvaluable books from the Library, valuable _to the Dark Lord_. The Dark Lord who had contacted his former Inner Circle a few weeks before, through Wormtail, to announce his imminent return.

Lucius Malfoy was in a bad position. And how was he supposed to explain Draco's disappearance to the press? What if the brat did something stupid while he was out there?

If only he'd waited. Lucius would have crafted him a new hand, using unethical forms of magic of course, but a simple elegant glove would have hidden the metallic appendage. Draco would have started showing his father the proper respect, kept his training up with the tutors, become a powerful fighter and an asset to the Dark Lord when he returned.

That was how it should have happened, but the fool ran away and now he was going to die.

With a last scowl at the rather untidy room, Lucius made his way to the closest bottle of Firewhiskey.

-o-O-o-

The two students sat in the quiet environment they had requested.

"Daph, I have something to ask you," Harry started, his nerves affecting his voice.

Her head tilted, eyes searching. "What is it? Is it about... you know, sex?"

Two matching blushes colored their faces, and he spluttered his answer, obviously taken aback:

"No, no! I'm not going to ask that, I mean we're fourteen, come on... No, it's something different. Another kind of... intimacy."

Around the end of the statement, Harry's voice had gone completely serious, focus and determination instead of embarassment. She caught his tone and moved her head, inviting him to continue.

"Okay, I've read a few things here, in the Room, about famous fighters. Something that came up more than once was the concept of a duo, two people training together for years, generally close people too, so they get practically unstoppable in a fight."

She was still listening, waiting for the shoe to drop.

"You know, one covers the other, synchronised attacks or defenses and the like; it's _very_ effective. So I thought it would be nice to do that with you, but we don't have the time or the right instructor for that, and bsides we should have started way earlier, so I thought no, I should look at something else, but it was still there, -"

"Shut up."

That stopped him. In the following silence, realization that the nervousness had come back with reinforcements crept up on him.

"Sorry," he mumbled, his voice quieter, "I was rambling."

She smiled, and Harry took that as his cue to finish.

"What I _wanted_ to say was maybe we could use Legilimency to get more familiar with each other, and do so quicker, and it could help with the fighting?"

Daphne gaped at the proposition. "Do you mean sharing everything, voluntarily, in our minds?"

He nodded.

"That would nearly amount to being the same person, Harry! If I know all of your memories, and you know mine, and we are able to think like each other, we're going to change so much!"

Harry moved closer to her, his hand reassuringly pressing on her shoulder. "We'll still be ourselves, Daph. We can still choose what to share, it's just that it'll work better the more we learn about each other. I trust you not to snoop around my head when I have my shields down, and i'll make an Unbreakable Vow if you want me to."

Her eyes glanced up to him, and her face progressively frowned in thought.

Her mind was private. But then, Harry had already seen glimpses of it when he broke her Occlumency Shields for the training. Glimpses, of course, were a world apart from actively reading her mind.

She also had to consider the fact he would open up to her too. The privilege it represented was enormous, and it showed his exceptional trust in her. More than that, it would also be extremely useful in a fight, and she knew Voldemort wasn't dead, and would always come after Harry.

And she would always be at his side. Too much was at stake.

"Let's do it," his smile cheered up her serious mood, "and no Unbreakables either. It removes the trust from the agreement, and trust is the entire idea, right?"

"I love you, Daphne."

Her mind half-melted at the words.

"I love you too, Harry."

They stared at each other for minutes, basking in the glory they found in the moment. Then, Daphne smiled a mischevious smirk.

"Are you going to teach me Legilimency now or what? You may get a kiss later if you're a good professor."

-o-O-o-

"_Imperio_," and it was all gone.

The thoughts were brushed away, and they did not complain; it all felt so much better, to do, think, nothing.

Ignorance is bliss.

Although there was still this annoying voice somewhere, deep, but close enough to the surface, to Harry, to be annoying. _Fight it Fight it Fight it_... it said. In a way, it was akin to Hermione confronting Ginny about her homework.

"Jump on the table."

_Sure_.

_Fight it Fight it Fight it Fight it Fight it_...

_Why would I fight it? Why would I jump?_

_Let's do nothing_.

_What was I thinking? Oh, yes, Hermione and Ginny._

"Jump!"

"No!"

But he didn't move. The green eyes were still glassy, he showed every single symptom of the Imperius's influence, but for one: obedience. The magical-eyed creep tried to vary his orders.

"Danse!", "Sing!", "Stroke the spider!".

As a last resort, Mad-Eye Moody opted for a child's strategy. "Stand there and do nothing!"

The green eyes showed something more than the nothingness they held a moment before, and a faint smile wrinkled Harry's eyes. "That I can do," his voice dreamily conceded. Ten seconds of general laughter in the classroom apparently woke him up, for he politely thanked his professor and went back to his seat.

Moody was skeptical, extremelyskeptical. _There's something wrong with the way this kid's brain works..._

-o-O-o-

"_Legilimens_."

A minute passed.

"_Legilimens_," the second voice answered.

Another minute and the conversation continued.

"_Legilimens_."

Daphne certainly hadn't expected her boyfriend's mind to hold so much knowledge. And thoughts about her, which was a good thing.

Hopefully he wasn't disappointed with what he found in hers.

The unusual exchange continued for an hour, at which point the two teenagers, exhausted, made their way back to their dorms without a worrd. Everything they'd had to say had been told from a mind to another for an hour before that, and silence was always comfortable among trusted friends.

-o-O-o-

Not a week later, stares were directed in considerable numbers toward the young couple.

As far as everyone else knew, the two hadn't exchanged a word. Each would verbally communicate with anyone else alright, but when it came to the two of them, _not a word_ was told. The creepy part was they appeared to exchange things: after a long 'stare into my eyes' session, both seemed to know the contents of their conversations with others.

Not when the conversations were private though, which led the smarter ones to understand Harry Potter and Daphne Greengrass were having mental conversations. Normal, regular conversations like one would have with a friend, but non-verbal, all in the eyes.

It creeped out a lot of them, and not even the two's closest friends looked like they knew anything about it, their collective confusion right there for the world to see.

-o-O-o-

"Potter!" the harsh voice roared.

_Damn, it must have hurt to scream like that_.

A sheepish-looking Harry turned to the irate man.

"Yes, Professor Moody?"

"Stop staring into your girl's eyes and pay attention!"

Harry shook his head. He had _not _meant to do that in class, he just felt so much... at home, in her mind. And he knew the feeling was shared. With a sheepish look, he answered.

"I'm sorry Professor, but I _did _hear the lesson. You can ask me any question on the subject and I'm sure I'll be able to answer it."

There, a confident smile. This can't go wrong, right? Doesn't look like he's calming down, though.

"You want to be witty with me? Detention tonight, Potter. We'll see if I can make you react properly to the Imperius."

-o-O-o-

"_Stupefy_!"

Instincts kicked in, Harry dodged the red curse and kicked out; the ex-Auror was somewhat surprised by the boy's reflexes, and yet stepped out of the leg's way, and attempted to punch the arrogant bastard.

Sadly for both, while the older wizard's fist connected straight into Harry's jaw, the younger's other leg sweeped his professor's wooden one.

Twin thuds accompanied the fallsand Harry, aware he had to warn someone, anyone of the situation, cast a hasty "_Confringo_!" at the wall, hoping the explosion would be heard.

"_Incarcerous_! _Stupefy_! _Imperio_!"

Harry dodged two of the three curses, and the Unforgivable flew straight through his standart shield; Harry froze like he did days before in class, and did nothing.

Even when the third _Stupefy_ of the night was sent his way.

-o-O-o-

Harry's eyes blinked open at the pain in his left arm. The Sun burned them so they closed back, and instead he settled on listening to what was happening around him. At least, until he fully woke up.

"Blood of the enemy, forcibly taken...".

_That sounds bad_.

Tentatively, his eyelids batted a few times, and he flinched when a loud hissing sound suddenly filled the air; a cloud of smoke was rising from a cauldron, a large one... a blond man was standing with apparent pride over the tower of smoke, and another human shape was cradling its hand on the ground, a few feet away.

Harry tried to move and realized he was bound, and tightly at that. Physical ropes, and magical ones too, it appeared. These people did not want him to move around. A silhouette was visible through the rising smoke, _Oh my God I have to get away from this place_, so Harry tensed his muscles and prepared himself to use wandless magic.

Most people believed his wandless abilities had all but disappeared with the regular use of a wand. It hadn't: Harry could perform anything he'd mastered up to his second year in Hogwarts without said stick.

Only Dumbledore, Flitwick, Daphne, Ginny, Hermione, Sirius and Blaise knew the truth. Well, the _entire _truth, because some people might have kept their suspicion up and discovered something. He didn't know, but it was his best shot at... well, at surviving this.

While he magically tested the strength of the ropes, the smoke cleared.

All thoughts stopped, there was no use for thoughts anymore. The snake face, pale skin, red eyes: it could only be one man, one monster. Voldemort was back.

As quickly as it had stopped, Harry's work on the binds resumed. Frantically. he _had _to find a way out, survive and warn the Wizarding World, he _had _to. It was vital that he did so, _vital indeed_, a sarcastic voice whispered in his mind.

He ignored the strange voice, the ominous "Robe me," the "My wand," and kept wrapping magic around the ropes. He had to get them under his control, as fast as he could.

Harry's eyes ignored the Dark Lord as he calmly walked to him, stalking its prey, his walk actually a prowl. A long, slender and bone-white finger brushed Harry's scar.

"It's a good thing you're already wrapped up, because I am going to dump you in a cell, deep in a hidden castle."

Harry's eyes rose to meet Voldemort's. Of course. They both knew he was a Horcrux, no way he was going to get killed then. Voldemort had told him so in first year.

"The only people you'll see for the rest of your life - and I dare say it will be quite a long one - are your friends, when I'll torture them to insanity in front of you."

And the bastard smirked. The speech wasn't beautifully delivered, the threat was basic, and yet Harry's hairs rose: this wizard was powerful enough to do everything he'd said, and crazy enough to go through with this plan.

Harry snarled and the ropes ripped open, wrapping themselves around the Dark Lord instead; before he even touched the ground, Harry banished a nearby rock into the blond man's head, and when he did touch the ground, he left it just as fast.

Voldemort had consumed the binds in an instant and thrown Harry back against the headstone he'd been bound to. The young wizard attempted to throw Voldemort away with wandless magic, but it had no effect, the man was too powerful for him.

"Wandless magic... Impressive, I admit it. The escape was poorly executed, though. Such a shame."

Fine, if his magic couldn't hurt him then he'd get something else to do it.

A summoned wand stabbed the back of Voldemort's neck while the other landed in Harry's hand, and the ground exploded between the two. The Dark Lord was thrown back but Harry was only pressed tighter against the stone his back was to, small rocks embedding themselves in the front of his legs. The pain was bearable.

"_Accio Holly wand_!" brought him back a more adequate tool than the blond's or the half-dead man on the ground's wands.

Of course, Voldemort hadn't waited before getting back to his feet, and his first curse, one Harry recognized as paralizing, was dodged, but the follow up required of Harry to shield himself.

Everything stopped, green eyes staring back at the crimson pair, and leaves rustled on the ground from the ambient magic emanating from the two opponents.

Then it started again: curses flew from both fighters, and five spells in Harry had to retreat behind a headstone for protection. He was good, but Voldemort was a god with a wand.

"Hiding already? Did you know both your parents were proudly standing up to me when I killed them? Surely they'd be ashamed."

"Are you talking about the night you died? We can do that again if you want."

"_Accio Potter's robes_!"

And Harry flew over his cover; no problem, it was part of the plan.

'_Dirty trick number 1: Featherlight Charm yourself_' was an entry in Harry's training journal.

Voldemort did not expect the brat to fly right over him at an extraordinary speed while flinging various explosive hexes at the ground. It was unstettling.

Predictably, not a smudge of dirt reached the Dark Lord's robes. From where Harry landed a small bird then came flying, apparently intent on picking out Voldemort's eyes, and a small flash of fire took care of it.

The next second, hundreds of birds appeared at the same spot, and they surrounded him before rushing for his head; a second wide-area flaming spell was cast to take care of the annoying creatures.

'_Dirty trick number 2: the Black Powder Birds_' was another.

The resulting explosion obliterated everything in a thirty feet radius, a column of fire and black smoke rising in the air; the blast was deafening, and yet Voldemort was still standing proudly in the middle of the crater.

His skin had obviously been burned and his clothes nearly destroyed, but he had shielded in time, and the brat was going to pay for his defiance.

"You don't fight like a proper wizard, do you?"

His cold voice hadn't been half as frightening minutes before. The bastard had survived something that would have easily destroyed a house, and he only sounded angrier. There was truly nothing Harry could do to fight back.

A man, even a Hero, does not bring down a God.

However, a Slytherin can negotiate.

Harry stood from behind his cover, face set in a determined mask, his Occlumency Shields high up to hide his fear, and his wand turned to his own scar.

"Let me go or I'll destroy your precious Horcrux."

It stopped Voldemort in his tracks. _The boy wouldn't_...

"You wouldn't dare. You fear Death as much as any other," he replied, managing to sound confident through his own rising fear.

Potter truly was unpredictable, he'd have to keep the boy under a Draught of the Living Death when he was captured again.

"Only you here is afraid of Death, Tom."

_That name..._

"So I would. Anything to bring you closer to your greatest and most childish fear."

The two watched each other, one looking for a sign of bluffing, the other for any kind of reaction.

Behind Harry's strong shields, there was another struggle going on.

_Apparition, apparition, I need to learn how to apparate, teach me, show me!_

And a smug voice answered him. _What's in it for me?_

The two negociations, in and out of Harry's mind, were on hold. None of the two physicals involved knew what to do anymore, and _dammit the Horcrux isn't supposed to talk back_!

_Since when is it sentient?_

_You've brought me too close to yourself, I'm afraid. Before, I was just a fragment of, no, a splinter of a soul, now I have access to a mind. So, I communicate with you._

_What do you want?_

_Ultimately, a body._

_I can't give you mine. Do I need to build another?_

_I'm not enough to run a body, I'd be a mindless shell. I wish to rejoin the Master Soul._

_How do I do that?_

_You need to split the soul, just like -_

_I'm not killing an innocent._

_Have it your way._

_I think I will._

Voldemort was rather confused. He'd been watching the boy for some time, and his eyes had slightly glazed over, as if he'd been thinking _very_ deeply about a thing or another. Something urgent, certainly, considering the context.

If he moved quick enough, he would certainly be able to disarm the brat before he could destroy the Horcrux through his own death, provided he was distracted enough of course.

In a lightning fast motion, a red light flew straight at Harry who fell to the ground a moment before it hit him.

The Horcrux had been ripped out of Voldemort when a Death-intent curse was cast, and only because the original soul had already been mangled beyond humanity.

Therefore, it wasn't _properly _ripped out, and heavily unbalanced. Yes, it had all the intent to kill in the world, the Troll and Dumbledore and Quirrell had proved that much. Yes, it had power. But its mind was weak and only able to communicate through Harry's.

So, when Harry attacked it with Legilimency, it could only hold him off for moments, moments in which Harry fell down, relegating the entirety of his focus to the mental battle.

Voldmort was mildly surprised to see Potter falling down. He sent a second curse his way, with much less care since the other's wand was pointed elsewhere now, and again, an instant before the spell connected, its target moved.

More precisely, it Apparated away to Hogsmeade.

_I won_.

_I hate you_.

And Harry pushed the annoying voice to the back of his mind. He started walking toward Hogwarts to warn Dumbledore and the others, when athought struck him. It shouldn't be too hard, really.

A crack accompanied his disappearance, and three seconds later Harry was back, this time holding his pouch and the bodies of two adult wizards. one was still bleeding out, _I thought it was his _hand _he was holding_, the other still knocked out from an impact on the back of his head.

Two Featherlight Charms later, the three were flying toward the castle on Harry's broom and under the Invisibility Cloak.

_I was crazy to go back there. Loved the look on his face, though._

-o-O-o-

That night, many people had very concerned looks on their faces: the Headmaster, a few professors, four Slytherins and a Gryffindor girl in particular. Up in the Infirmary, Madam Pomfrey was keeping the two unconscious men Harry had brought alive so they could be delivered to the Ministry once the ceremony was over.

Back down in the Great Hall, the Goblet of Fire was fiercely burning. Harry was half-relaxed, confident his ominous feeling had been about Voldemort's return. The Tournament could only be a coincidence: how could there possibly be so many problems in a single year?

Cedric Diggory, Viktor Krum, and Fleur Delacour. Harry wasn't the Hogwarts Champion, he was safe. The year could go on normally, with training and preparing for war, not losing precious time in ridiculous tasks designed to be potentially lethal. From what he'd heard, it amused the Wizarding crowds, those Roman bastards.

Yes, he'd even have fun watching the tasks, provided nobody was hurt too badly. Or dead. Dumbledore was certainly pushing for extra security measures, so they should be all right.

"Harry Potter?" came the Headmaster's disbelieving voice.

_How can a boy go through so much? The contract is binding!_

A very grumpy Harry went to bed that night, and not before blasting a few dozen training dummies to dust in the Room of Requirement.

The next morning, he spent half an hour whacking his own head on a wall.

_Stupid. Stupid. Stupid._

_I'm stupid. The Time-Turner! How could I forget?_

And another voice quipped, dripping with morbid amusement.

_Guess you didn't push me back far enough._

He had to get rid of that Horcrux. If it could mess with his mind, it was no longer an advantage, but rather a liability. But first, he'd suck it dry of information.

Charms. Transfiguration. Fighting. Defense. Runes. Rituals. Dark Magic. His life. Silent Apparition. Soul Magic. Blood Magic. Everything.

The Horcrux protested, it fought back, attempted to restrain information, but once it realized that Harry would not be easily stopped, it abandoned defending itself, bringing everything it had to secure a handful of words instead.

The other Horcruxes. In a fit of rage, Harry mentally hurt the soul splinter, squashing into the deepest, most meaningless corner of his mind.

Voldemort was contained, too tired to fight back, in a portion of a teenager's mind: a place dedicated to cooking pasta.

Then, when the immensity of the acquired knowledge finally registered in Harry's memory, he fainted.

-o-O-o-

Albus Dumbledore, his long white beard flowing freely on his knees, sat staring at two piles of documents.

'_Tasks 1 to 3_' was the title of the folder in which the first pile went.

The other went to '_Tasks 4 to 7_'.

A sigh escaped the aged lips. He did trust Harry to survive, and even to do well: he'd survived another meeting with Voldemort, and apparently the soul fragment hadn't taken care of the fighting this time. The only question was why the fake Alastor Moody, the real having been found unconscious but mostly healthy in his own trunk, had entered Harry into the competition.

A contestant who doesn't show up to the Task will lose his magic, that much was true. Certainly a way to make sure Harry never escaped once they captured him. A Squib in a magical prison doesn't stand a chance...

But Voldemort probably hadn't specified that Harry needed to be magically unharmed, only alive, since the loss of his magic would have prevented the Horcrux from using Harry as an anchor and survive.

And now Harry would be risking his life, and the Horcrux, all year long... Barty Crouch Junior could be thankful they'd caught him, else Voldemort would have killed him for his foolishness and risking a fragment of his Master's very soul.

Well, not if Fudge had him Kissed. The man was impulsive like that, and it _was_ a case where Barty may have been better off at his Master's side.

Dumbledore opened a letter from the Ministry, obviously something about the Tournament.

Oh, they demanded the return of Harry's Time-Turner and his dropping out of the extra electives. It was considered an unfair advantage over the other contenders: how about the other Champions' older age? Wasn't that an unfair advantage?

Another sigh. Harry would throw quite the tantrum at those news. Maybe they could just share Miss Greengrass's Turner?

_It will have to do. Where the boy gets his luck, I don't want to know..._

-o-O-o-

A/N: There it is, next chapter... the new Tournament! Yeepee! I promise not to copy JBern's 'The lie I've Lived', though it _is_ an inspiring fic. And I may have used said inspiration...

Expect epicness, general AU-ness, a resourceful Harry, and a long year! Also, The story should be deserving of its title soon enough...

I hope you like what you read (as in 'what I write' ^^), so please review, fav/follow, recommend to friends and such, and don't forget to PM me for questions, suggestions (I'll carefully consider any suggestion about the new tasks, I do have a plan but I am still willing to implement the readers' ideas) or even discussion.

See you next time!


	15. Chapter 15

Ludovic Bagman, a fattened ex-Quidditch player, had all four Champions gathered in front of him, in a room that hadn't seemed quite so small when he'd been the only one to occupy it. Krum and Diggory actually were broad-shouldered young men, though Miss Delacour and Harry Potter admittedly did not take up much space. All were sitting.

Actually, the Boy-Who-Lived had quite the presence for someone so young, but that may have something to do with the news of his duelling the reborn Lord Voldemort, surviving, and coming back with two prisoners to tell the tale. The Ministry had been in quite the uproar ever since, but the evidence was undeniable, and the Tournament, the Goblet of Fire having already binded the Champions, could not be aborted.

In a way, a source of entertainment might also be what the Wizarding population needed, a way to occasionally get their minds off of the impending war and bloodshed.

Of course, they had chosen _this_ year to revolutionize the Tournament and have seven tasks instead of three, so there would be an event approximately once every three weeks, and Ludovic Bagman thought this was perhaps a little too much time spent having fun when Lord Voldemort was plotting his revenge against the country.

Anyway, he had a job to do, rules to explain.

"Champions, I have an announcement to make," he began, hoping the news would be taken well. No one apart from the organizers and judges of the Tournament and a few well-placed people in the Ministry knew about the new rules yet.

"This year, for the return of the Tournament," he continued, and thought maybe the word 'return' wasn't the best choice given recent developments, "we at the Ministry have decided to make this competition unique."

His smile failed to bring any kind of cheer to the contenders' faces. It was all very grim.

"How, you ask?" The man's enthusiasm never waivered, nor faltered.

"By bringing more enjoyment to the crowds of course! And what amuses the crowds?"

"Give me some guesses, yeah?"

A Cheering Ward on the room would have been great in hindsight.

"Let me tell you: danger! More tasks, more competitors, "a wink at Harry who didn't even blink, " - in short, more danger!"

Silence swept over the occupants of the room, who somehow all managed to breathe even more quietly, except Bagman who, of course required a few seconds to understand his audience's lack of glee over the 'great' news.

Harry spoke up.

"So, how are we going to die _exactly_? Reckon it'll be during a task, or the war we won't have any time to prepare for?"

More silence.

Ludovic bit his lip for a moment, his face turned serious. "Listen, I'm trying to make this easier on us all. We didn't know the goddamn Dark Lord would be making a come-back, a lot of money was invested in this thing, and it's too late for us to stop now. You guys are bound to the Cup. If we try anything funny with the rules, it could be bad."

The honest tone had obviously been the better approach, for the hateful glares kindly turned to resigned but still enraged scowls. At least, those weren't directed at him.

"So, this is one of the main things you've got to know. Every Champion will have to choose a Second. Your second will help you train, research, and help you more directly in certain Tasks. It can be absolutely anybody from your own school who is still a student. You can choose a first year if that's what you want, but your Second has to agree. And, I'd advise you to choose a competent, trustworthy friend because they'll be watching your back."

The four Champions of the Tri-Wizard Tournament all nodded, thoughts of potential Seconds running through their heads. For Harry the choice had already been made, but the others seemed to still be deep in thought.

"The other difference is the number of Tasks: seven, instead of three. We thought three events spread over nine months weren't quite enough to catch the public's attention. Honestly, I wish we hadn't done that."

The gazes raised back at him, slightly calmed down.

"I'm sorry. But we still have to do this. We're stuck in this thing, you and I and the Ministry, and while _we_ won't be risking our lives in meaningless trials of power and wizardry, _we_ also wish we could spend that time preparing for a war."

He straightened up a little, his eyes stronger without the faked enthusiasm.

"But what are we going to do? Cry, get miserable, and _completely_ waste this year? I don't like this. _I _want to make the most of what we have, of what we're going to _have _to do. I say we accept this Tournament, we train for it, we compete with everything we have, we make this a memorable year, a year that will _inspire the people_ of Britain in the war we can see rising on the horizon."

Ludovic had stood up around the end of his speech, of his attempt at a galvanizing the Champions, who were looking at him expectantly, waiting for the rest of the epic declaration of war on despair and self-pity.

The fat man's voice had deepened, gaining a commanding tone in its newfound sobriety.

"They think we are wasting our time. They think we're going to do this as fast as possible, screw the show, and leave it at that. They're _underestimating _us. Are _you_ going to give up? I will _not_."

Bagman turned to fully face them, his hard gaze spending time on each of them, _judging_ them.

"You are Champions."

His right hand rose to the level of his shoulders, then formed into a fist.

"The show _must_ go on."

The applaud lasted minutes.

-o-O-o-

Harry attempted to murder the retreating back of the Headmaster with his glare, unfortunately the results weren't very promising thus far. The old man had just announced him his Time-Turner was to be returned to the Ministry because of the competition, since it constituted an 'unfair advantage'.

Harry hated the Ministry.

He'd had a nice internal laugh over Bagman's attempt at cheering them up, and for a moment the feeling of impending doom had lifted from his shoulders. The sight of Ludo's considerable belly quivering with every move the man made, the speech itself, all of it had managed to take Harry's mind off his own probably impending death.

Well, he did have Voldemort's nigh-entire life printed in his memory, and that was a _lot _of knowledge. Plenty of stuff to look over and assimilate over the next few dozen Occlumency sessions, and the Horcrux wasn't acting cheeky anymore. He'd probably traumatized the poor thing.

Before that though, he had to find Daphne and ask her to be his Second for the Tournament. The idea of cooperating with her when they were starting to make progress in strides with their Legilimency project was very much appealing.

Especially one of the Tasks Bagman had explained after the applause had finally died down: the duels. When brainstorming for new ideas, the duelling had been an obvious choice for an extra Task, and the execution was also designed to make the Tournament longer. It would be the only one to last over the entire school year, with three rounds of duels spread between the other events.

From what had been revealed so far, Harry knew there was a high probability of him duelling at his Second's side, and he was looking forward to applying their Legilimency in a kind of fight that differed from their training.

-o-O-o-

It had been decided that the first of two parts of the First Task would be held only a week after the announcements, as a way to get the festivities going. This 'pre-Task' only involved the Champions' seconds, Daphne Greegrass, Cho Chang as Cedric's Second, Nicolas David as Fleur's, and Vassil Damianov as Viktor's.

The four were waiting in front of a line drawn on the ground, on top of the Astronomy Tower, facing the Forbidden Forest with their brooms laying at their sides.

There was very little wind blowing that afternoon, but the crowd that filled the Grounds from the bottom of the Castle's walls to the treeline brought a murmur loud and constant enough to be mistaken for a breeze from where the Seconds were standing.

Daphne had never been a great flyer, but she had practiced with Harry at times, and seen his perspective on the whole activity. The latter especially gave her a confidence she had been certain she'd lack when her gaze strayed to examine the broom all contestants had been given.

Identical, top of the line brooms, to ensure the show was good and the competition fair.

They had been assigned to fly into the Forest, staying above the treetops for over three seconds meaning disqualification, pass through the magical ring they could distinguish from their current point of view, and then race for Hogsmeade where the finish line was advertised using a bright display.

Only it wasn't that simple, because the Wizarding public wanted blood. The Seconds were allowed to curse each others as soon as they reached the treeline, a ward silently letting them know exactly when mid-air spell flinging was authorized, and it was announced that traps were strategically placed along the circuit.

But they had to do it, because the winner would get to help his or her Champion in the main part of the Task.

A whistle was heard, four voices demanded "Up!", and the Triwizard Tournament had officially started.

The four silhouettes dropped from the Astronomy Tower like bricks, picking up speed for the straight line ahead of them. Already Vassil and Nicolas were going faster than the two witches, their weight an advantage when flying downward.

Vassil was the first one to pull up, Nicolas second, and then both Daphne and Cho imitated them, only higher up than the two first. The two wizards started flying ahead of them at the speed of cannonballs, only feet higher than the roaring crowd, and the two others were several broom lengths behind.

A few seconds before they reached the Forbidden Forest, Cho's weight and experience as a Seeker brought her in first place, followed by Vassil, Daphne and Nicolas.

Daphne felt the ward sending a small tingle through her, strong enough to be noticed no matter what and yet weak enough to keep her focus intact. She was trying to fly using the instincts she'd felt in Harry's mind, and the flying was actually quite enjoyable.

Maybe it was the adrenalin, which felt like it had replaced half of her blood, but it wasn't half bad, and she had a good position so far.

She had no doubt Cho would have a little more trouble navigating through the trees, and her position would make her the prime target for most of the curses to come, while Vassil's weight had obviously become a great liability.

Daphne hastily erected a basic shield to cover her back from the French wizard and did her best to let the instincts take over and not slow down between the thick trees.

"_Stupefy_!"

It was only a stunning spell, but with that speed and environment it became a lethal tool, one easy to cast repeatedly with precision and no exhaustion in sight.

The voice had been Vassil's, and Cho evaded the curse easily enough, choosing to go around a particular tree from the left rather than the right, and the magic fizzled out in the Forest.

The wizard's casting had slowed him down some, and Daphne found herself right behind him. A shield was covering his back, one she didn't have the time to identify, and she didn't trust a physical attack would do any more than knock her off her broom.

Instead, she went about the Slytherin way.

"_Avada Kedav_" heard the Bulgarian wizard who had resumed his studies for the sole purpose of maybe joining the Tournament; the Killing Curse would go through any shield and he knew it, so he decided to save his skin from the crazy witch behind him and swerved on the left.

The blonde girl was happily flying two feet ahead of him when he realized there had been no curse, and her own shield appeared to be quite sturdy for a fourth year's.

For a few seconds, Cho remained ahead, with Daphne and Vassil on her heels, Nicolas having trouble to keep up with the better flyers.

Then Cho slowed to what looked like a halt compared to her previous speed, while she was actually still faster than a running human.

Whatever it was that affected her, it spread to the two behind her a second later.

Nicolas David, however, had the time to see the other Seconds slowed down by what he identified as some kind of incomplete anti-broom ward, and gleefully flew around the area in a wide curve.

While Cho appeared to focus on flying as she had done since the beginning of the race, Daphne took advantage of their slowing down to flick a few choice curses at Vassil behind her. She had purposefully chosen curses that weren't blocked using the same shields, and she heard him scream in pain after the fourth curse pierced his defenses.

Broken bones can be regrown.

When she turned her wand to Cho, she saw that it was too late, the witch was already speeding back up, progressively exiting the area effect.

By the time the three had emerged from the ward, Nicolas had a dozen feet lead on the others, and the ring was in sight.

Then, he _did _come to a halt, and a giant rope net became visible upon the French wizard's impact. His obviously stunned and disqualified form and his broom fell limply to the ground under him, but none of the three others saw what happened to the body as they all flew through the openings of the net.

The two remaining passed through the magical ring, Cho still in lead.

Daphne had understood by then she would not be able to outfly her last opponent, especially not since they were in a straight line from then on and Cho was actually lighter despite her age, so she used her wand some more.

Most curses flew around the Asian witch's body, but one was close enough to make her shield react, and Daphne kept cursing. They had nearly a minute before they'd reach Hogsmeade, so she wasn't worried about not managing to knock her off her broom.

Cho, once she realized the onslaught was not about to stop, decided to sacrifice some of her speed to send a few glances behind her and dodge what spells would have hit her otherwise, and Daphen started gaining back some lost ground.

The two were flying only a few feet apart when Daphne had her best idea so far.

"_Accio Cho's robes_!" she screamed, and her only remaining competitor was pulled back, leaving her broom to zoom away at high speed.

But Cho wasn't abandoning yet: even without registering the fact that she had been dismissed as a threat, she managed to grab the front end of Daphne's broom, and the two started going down from their combined weight being too far up the broom.

Daphne pulled up as hard as she could while Cho secured a second hand, this time on her fellow Second's right thigh. The pair kept flying awkwardly for ten seconds, one constantly rearranging the broom's direction, all thoughts of letting the instincts take over gone, while the other did her best to not fall down to her death, or rather her disqualification: Dumbledore had mentioned security measures.

Finally Cho decided to take some chances and punched the panicking Daphne in the stomach, causing the broom to swerve heavily on the right, and their positions were reversed in the following confusion.

Daphne was only barely hanging on the handle with her hands while Cho, slouched on the broom, both legs still dangling on the side, had hoisted herself up enough to control their direction.

Not about to let herself lose after so many efforts, Daphne grabbed, with one hand after the other, Cho's robes, deciding both of them losing wouldn't be such a bad outcome after all.

They lost more altitude as Cho was slowly sliding off the broomstick, and hit their second ward.

None of them had noticed it but they had reached Hogsmeade, and the last trap set up by the Tournament organizers was an anti-broom dome spreading a hundred feet around the finish line in all directions.

About two seconds of falling later, Cho was the first one to realize the broom was useless, and let go of it to take care of the Daphne problem with her wand. The two were progressively slowing down at their approach of the ground when a simple _Stupefy_ hit the blonde contestant, and Cho Chang was declared winner of the first event even before she stepped across the finishing line.

-o-O-o-

"Harry?' Daphne slurred, waking up.

Her boyfriend smiled at her, "I didn't know you could be that feisty up in the air."

She frowned a moment and the effects of the Stunning Hex had finally worn off enough for her to remember what led her to a side of Hogsmeade, in Harry's arms, still half-stunned.

"I still lost."

"I'd say Cho was quite the opponent on a broom, Daph. She's maybe the only Seeker who could really beat me in Hogwarts."

"Cedric's good too, and stop stroking your own ego."

His grin told her what he thought of that. Harry really was the best on a broom, and both were fully aware of that.

She shook her head to get rid of the last remnants of the _Stupefy_, smile as she noticed they hadn't actually said a word since she'd woken up, only used their two-way Legilimency.

"How are the other two? They didn't get hurt in the Forest?"

"Dumbledore took care of that, the Cushioning Charms he used were very effective. You could have fallen from a hundred feet and been completely alright," he reassured her, and gently pushed her chin aside so she could see everyone else in the distance.

"Why didn't you use an _Ennervate_ to wake me up? Now I'm all groggy!" she accused, out loud this time, at the sight of the fully awoken Nicolas David and Vassil Damianov discussing with their respective Champions and looking quite sheepish. Cho and Cedric were in a conversation with Ludo Bagman and a reporter, a few feet away from most of the crowd.

"You're cute when you're waking up."

How was she supposed to hate him after that? She chose to deflate instead, and gave him a strange look.

"Why isn't anybody looking at us? It's kind of weird, considering you're the Boy-Who-Lived..."

"And you put on quite the show up there too, don't forget it. Anyway, Notice-Me-Not Charm; the only ones who have so much as glanced our way are Dumbledore and Moody."

She flinched. "I know it's not him who did it, but I still want to curse his eye off."

"I do too, darling. But remember I wasn't really hurt, so it's alright."

"Voldemort _did _return, so it's _not_ _exactly_ alright," Daphne reminded him.

"True," was his answer, a more thoughtful frown adorning his forehead.

-o-O-o-

The conceptual door to the conceptual cell slammed open, conceptual light conceptually blinding the captive soul.

"Hello, Tom. Fancy meeting you here."

"Mock me as it pleases you, boy. The rest of my soul will track you down, and I shall have the pleasure to witness your death."

Harry cocked his head, and smiled.

"Were you under the impression that you're going to rejoin the rest of Voldemort's soul? Have you forgotten his promises of locking me down for eternity?"

The Horcrux glared at Harry. "Then I will wait for you to weaken in captivity, then overthrow your pathetic defenses."

"I learned Occlumency from you, remember?" he laughed.

"Exactly, the Master will defeat the Apprentice, and once I have control over this body... Convincing my other selves to let me rejoin them will be a child's game."

The soul shard was staring at Harry with glee in its crimson red eyes.

"I will kill you before that happens."

"You can't kill me without dying, the vessel must be destroyed for the soul to be released," Tom snarled. "Now you know your fate, and I will enjoy feeling your despair the day my power overcomes yours."

Harry looked around the conceptual cell with curiosity. It was really nothing more than his brain trying to represent the way the Horcrux was contained in a corner of his mind, in much the same way Harry could feel himself physically present even though he knew it was only introspection, not prison-visiting.

"The both of us have never heard of a vessel overcoming the soul it contains, stealing from it, or even locking it down. Having a mind allow me to do what was believed to be impossible, and I fully intend to destroy you when it becomes convenient to do so."

Tom laughed a a laugh of dementia, "When it is convenient? That would be when you know of the other Horcruxes, and it is a secret I shan't reveal to you."

Harry only focused an instant, and the conceptual cell became tighter.

"You will tell me all I wish to learn, you sub-human weakling. I am the master here, and you _will_ bow to me," he snarled, sending the crumpled and blurry form of the soul frgament a death glare he'd learned from its very own memories.

"I originally came to make sure you weren't evading my control, not make conversation. Enjoy your loneliness."

The conceptual door closed, and the soul shard vainly fought against its conceptual bonds.

Harry opened his eyes, content that the bastard wasn't going anywhere for the moment. He'd let it stew in the cell for a few more days, then maybe try to figure out how to force emotions, or even pain, on the blighter. He wasn't pro-torture but the thing deserved it, and if it had the potential to rid the world of Lord Voldemort, then surely it was worth its cost.

A glance at his mechanical watch informed him he had more than an hour before his next class, so he readjusted his cross-legged position on the Room of Requirement provided cushion and delved back into himself.

This time, he ignored Tom and went straight for his memory. Everything he'd stolen from the soul fragment had been incorporated to his memory, but he would still have to spend hours upon hours to properly review a lifetime worth of memories.

So far he'd only taken the time to inspect random memories picked at approximately regular intervals of Voldemort's life. He'd witnessed a day in an orphanage, a Defense class in his second year at Hogwarts, a discussion with what would become his inner circle, and two days he'd spent traveling around the world, in search of powerful magics, and one day at the peak of his power in the war.

Knowing the general outline of the Dark Lord's life, Harry went straight for moments of his life when he might have learned more about fighting. Dark Lord hunting was his priority, and if he had to kill Voldemort with his own tools, he certainly would.

-o-O-o-

Draco Malfoy was in pain.

The ache in his left foot from the impact of a large and heavily bound book wasn't much compared to what was running through his bloody stump.

His wand clattered on the ground, his knees touched the ground, the stump pressed hardagainst his armpit, and tears threatened to spill out his eyes.

Draco's scream was hoarse, pushing his silencing ward to its limits, and it only ended when the blond boy started coughing blood on the ground, a few drops staining the cover of the book he'd been reading.

'_The_ _Dark Mutilating and Healing_', a guide on torturing and healing afterward so the torture could continue, had a section Draco had been craving to find in a book for a year: regrowing limbs.

Of course, he'd already found texts discussing the matter, but none allowed the regrowing of a wand that was sliced off by the Dark curse he'd used, and selected for that very reason. In hindsight, his hopes that Blaise would forever bear the scars of his defiance hadn't been his brightest moment.

For a few minutes he remained as he was, knees and forehead on the ground, blood seeping in his dirty blond hair. The proper pureblood's clothing was torn, stained, and dirtied by months and months of traveling and living as a thief and beggar.

Pride had been lost, but the bloodied book next to his legs could bring hope back.

It was the third time he'd failed the Restoration spell. The first had done nothing, the second restarted the hemorrhage, only the third showing any sign of success. There had been a hint of silver taking hold of the scarred skin of his stump, but Draco's focus had slipped in the middle of the hand's appearance, and the noble metal left, pulling some nerves along with it.

Once the crying had stopped, he allowed himself to move again, and notice he'd thrown up on the ground. It was no _Crucio_, but the importance of focusing as the spell took hold was firmly set in his mind. A look at where his hand used to be confirmed the ritual he'd previously performed on himself had worked again, and the bleeding had stopped within seconds.

For the fourth time that day, Draco raised his wand his bloody stump, and whispered the incantation. Speaking louder than that would have hurt his damaged throat and possibly broken his focus.

Silver slowly seeped out of the scar tissue, and inch by inch a metallic hand was formed.

It flexed at Draco's command, and the Heir to the Malfoy fortune smiled. He'd learned a lot in the previous year, and with his new hand revenge was in reach.

His Father, Zabini, Potter, Black and even Lord Voldemort. One by one, all would learn what it means to cross Draco Malfoy.

-o-O-o-

A/N: Sorry for the long delay, I'm afraid it will be the new norm from now on. I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I had fun writing it, please review, fav/follow and recommend!

See you next time!


	16. Chapter 16

Kneeling before the Dark Lord's throne, his face inches from the hem of the most powerful wizard alive's robes, a man clad in black and a white skull mask trembled. Lord Voldemort's return had been shocking news to many, and more than one old Death Eater secretly wished the man had stayed dead.

However the past could not be changed, and all would have to make the best of their situations; of course the task may have been easier had the Dark Lord been in a better mood.

Humiliated by a schoolboy mere minutes after his return to the land of the living, Lord Voldemort had then spent hours and hours punishing his old followers for their lack of action after his disappearance, yer every single one of those who had screamed under his Cruciatus knew loyalty was not the matter - the burn marks on their Master's recently crafted skin told them the true story, along with the shattered headstones and crater in the graveyard.

Most of the scars had been healed since then, but it did not escape the more observant Death Eaters' notice that the Dark Lord was uneasy in his use of certain muscles, especially if their contraction meant certain patches of skin would be stretched. Even those who missed the awkwardness in their Master's actions were forced to notice his liberal use of the Cruciatus, his way to redirect some of the pain he endured daily.

What had Harry Potter done to their Lord?

None of them knew the answer and they had only themselves to ask when it came to the boy's true power, as Voldemort was the only one who had confronted him so far, and it wasn't advised to discuss the matter with him.

At the Dark Lord's feet, the Death Eater tensed instead of trembling in anticipation when his Master spoke.

"I will be honest, and admit your behavior intrigues me," the Dark Lord started, his tone laced with a cold threatening humor, "because you are not a stupid man."

The man had to refrain a sob; he knew Lord Voldemort only complimented his followers for it to be more painful when he chose to strike, and only thinking about the pain that was sure to come brought tears to his eyes.

"As I said, you are a smart man, and yet the evidence is disconcerting. One thing I have always made clear to my devoted followers is that while you all are one success away from glory, you also are a mistake and a spell away from death."

This was even worse than expected, but he couldn't even interrupt him to beg - the situation would only worsen and he knew it.

"Another thing I have always made clear, is that I took steps to prevent my death. I am immortal, and I believe I have proven it. So, why I ask you, _why_ did you abandon me the moment I disappeared? You _knew _I would be back, your Mark had not faded! You _knew _you would be punished for betraying your allegiance to me!"

The other Death Eaters present around the room smirked behind their masks at their fellow wizard kneeling on the ground, head hung and body shaking. The Dark Lord's temper was resurfacing so they were certain the idiot would be tortured soon, and their Master was always somewhat kinder for some time after torturing a particularly deserving follower.

"You could have been glorious, you chose to be mistaken. You were a mistake and a spell away from death, now only the spell remains. I could kill you now, two words and what little you have achieved in your life will finally mean nothing.

But, it shall be said that Lord Voldemort is merciful. You shall be granted a second chance, my servant, to redeem yourself. Obey my word with care and glory will once more be in your reach, waiting for you to grasp it."

Even from behind, in the relative darkness of the Dark Lord's throne chamber and through the thick black robes of their comrade, the singled out Death Eater's relief was visible.

"I am merciful indeed, but I am also just, and you still deserve a punishment. _Crucio_."

Tension left many a pair of shoulders in the chamber at the sight of Lord Voldemort's enjoyment. The bearers of bad news would perhaps make it through the way with their sanities intact.

-o-O-o-

There was only the slightest vibrations in Lucius Malfoy's hands while he briskly walked through Knockturn Alley. The meeting had gone as well as expected considering the fact that, for the second time since his Master's return, he had to explain the disappearance of an ancient book, one that had the potential to help the Dark Lord's fight for an ideal society.

Of course, in Lucius's mind, the ideal society did not involve minute-long exposure to the Cruciatus at each failure to please their Lord, not that he was dim enough to voice that particular opinion either.

Still, he had pledged his allegiance to that thing he couldn't even call a man anymore, the living black tattoo on his left forearm was proof of that, and his duty would always be accomplished to the best of his abilities.

Now, to find another copy of '_The Shaping of Minds: Tools of a true Master_' was not exactly part of the extent of his abilities - not that it could hurt to have a look in the shadier libraries of the Alley.

Three had already denied ever hearing of that book, and a fourth had sold their only copy two decades ago: Lucius should have known that, they had sold it to him in the first place. He was on his way to a fifth bookshop, his hopes to ever lay hands on the tome diminishing to the chances he had to ever laying hands on his son's throat again.

The distance he had to cover before reaching his destination was longer than what it had been between the first four establishments he'd visited, and only his knowledge that all in Knockturn Alley feared him could make him feel safe in this thief's den.

Well, that and the two undercover bodyguards who followed him from a distance.

-o-O-o-

The body crumpled on the ground, lifeless as of three seconds now, its throat utterly crushed.

Draco Malfoy ripped the dead wizard's pouch off with ease, putting his new hand's inhuman strength to good use. Cutting Spells were overrated, nothing could beat killing a man with sheer physical strength, each of the vibrations that small bones emitted when cracking inspiring shivers down Draco's back.

He'd also gotten used to avoiding unnecessary use of his wand when he'd first started living as a thief in the shadiest corners of the Alley, what with disgruntled Ministry owls and the Aurors that were sure to follow.

Was it his fault that the first spell he was caught casting was a Killing Curse? Maybe it also had to do with the thousands of Galleons his Father had offered to anyone who could bring him back home.

Anyway, Draco had been forced early on to make it his primary goal to rid himself of the Ministry's Underage Trace, making it even more urgent than growing himself a new hand. In the end he'd found a ritual supposed to cleanse him of all tracking charms of any sort.

The only problem was that rituals called for sacrifices, and to avoid others 'seeing' him with the Trace, he had to sacrifice his sight in one eye. Of course, he'd then found another ritual to restore sight in that eye.

This second ritual had called for the sacrifice of a sense in return for sight. He'd chosen to lose the sense of taste as he absolutely needed to be able to hear, touch and smell. The first two were needed in every day life and smell was good to detect fires, decay - from food to corpses-, and could even replace taste to a certain extent.

It had also been a good surprise for him to discover that, having only needed sight to come back in one eye, only half of his sense of taste had left.

And it wasn't that bad too, now he absolutely did not care about cheap disgusting food, it was only half as bad as it used to be after all, and he had taken to casting pleasure spells in his own mouth to mimick the satisfaction of an elaborate meal.

In the end, half his sense of taste for losing the Trace had been quite the deal.

Having stolen everything he needed from his victim's pouch, he tossed it back on the corpse and walked back into the street, barely thinking about the Notice-Me-Not Charm he'd reflexively placed on the opening of the alley behind him.

It really was routine to him, and he'd discovered that it was preferable that people did not notice the small alleys where he commited crimes at all than for them to find the alleys and not understand why they smelled rotting flesh.

Yes, Draco Malfoy was smart, powerful, and soon he'd have the opportunity to punish his Father and the others who had dared wrong him.

His Father.

The bastard was right there, strutting down the street like he was Lord Knockturn! Draco would show him. He pulled his hood lower in front of his face but scowled at the blond hair that was now too long for him to effectively hide it.

A Cutting Spell later, Draco accelerated his walk to catch up with his target. Once he was about ten feet from the man who'd basically ruined his life, Draco drew his wand, pointed it straight in front of him and cast.

It was a curse he'd discovered in one of the stolen books from the Malfoy Library, one that perfectly fit his needs. Much like the Cruciatus was fueled by the desire to hurt or the Killing Curse by the desire to kill, the curse he used was powered by the desire to avenge oneself.

It was said to focus all the pain and emotions felt by the caster and caused by the target, onto the latter. The curse connected with Lucius Malfoy's back, and the aristocratic Death Eater tasted the bitterness and pain of a year of anguish, hunger, sadness, anger, pain and madness, all in the span of a few seconds.

Draco adopted a demented smirk at the sight of his tortured Father convulsing in the middle of the street. Soon the pain would fade, and be replaced by death.

It was a very nice curse. Of course it had a few minor setbacks, like the coldness that ran through Draco's body while the other Malfoy screamed in front of him. Apparently one could not force so many feelings at once on another man without losing a little of his own sensibility in the process.

Some would have called it a sacrifice, Draco only reveled in the sensation, one that left him with less pain than before. Being angry was nice to exact revenge, but cold was nice too, it numbed the pain.

When twin spells rushed from both sides of the street toward Draco, enhanced reflexes kicked in and he ducked low enough for both lights to miss and crash in nearby shopfronts.

A third ritual had allowed Draco to acquire the reflexes of a seasoned fighter, and an awareness Mad-Eye Moody would kill for. Of course, he couldn't turn off the sharpened awareness and only managed to sleep two or three hours every other night, but it was okay.

All Draco wanted was revenge, and what did you get without a few sacrifices along the way?

Running and dodging, the Malfoy Heir ran away from the crime scene and, once he'd lost his pursuers for certain, entered his room in a shady pub he used to practice spells. He sat on the cot that the owner called a bed, a tired shadow of the sneer he'd so often directed at others on his face.

He felt cold inside, hungry, tired, he had next to no feeling left in his mouth, his silver hand still felt very foreign, and there was this itch to practice some of the curses he'd read up in his books. The itch had been building up for a few days now, and he knew from experience that the only way to get rid of it was to give in to the tentation.

All it usually took was a few choice curses on some random victim in the street and it would be gone. Then again, it had seemed to be harder to get rid of the last few times, and every time he had some fun torturing of killing someone there were more Aurors patrolling the streets the next day.

No problem, all it would take was some care to not kill the victims - only when he really wanted to at least - and some well cast Memory Charms.

Draco Malfoy felt awful, but he only wanted one thing, and that thing was revenge.

Once he got it, all would be better, right?

He got up from the cot, intending to practice his Memory Charms on some unlucky random bloke, and instead crashed down on the floor, unconscious. Perhaps he should have slept in the past four days.

-o-O-o-

"Harry!"

The green-eyed celebrity turned and smiled at his Godfather, easily returning to reality from his mental exercises.

"Hey Sirius, something new?" he asked, wondering what the weird expression on his father figure's face meant.

"I should think so. Lucius Malfoy is in St Mungo's right now, they called a few Aurors to guard his room and I volunteered to help."

Harry raised an eyebrow.

"I didn't know you were good friends with Lucius."

"It was mainly to learn a little more about what happened," he grinned at his Godson, "and as an ex-Auror they were glad for the help. Something about increased patrols in Knockturn Alley, and if Malfoy was attacked there, then it may be for a good reason. Of course they didn't let me approach him, what with him voting against my freedom, but I had the opportunity to listen to a few conversations."

"Did you learn anything then, or did you basically offer Lucy your free protection?"

"The only witnesses who talked say the guy who attacked him was no taller than a teenager but he looked more like a vampire than anything else. Emaciated, skinny, stretched skin, you know the drill."

"You just described another Malfoy, you know that?"

"Keep laughing pup, I don't want to know what Draco has done to himself if he looks like that now. No, they're rather looking for some kind of hired wand, Lucius does have enemies after all, and from the description, a Dark Arts addict."

Harry laughed at a thought, "So Dark Arts addicts look like Muggle junkies? I'm sure it was Draco on meth, he thought Daddy would take away his powder so he attacked him."

"Actually they think Draco's either dead or out of the country, it's not like the average third year can survive on the streets for so long, and that's not counting the Trace. Besides the witnesses also said the curse he used was serious stuff and he had the reflexes of a pro."

"Not Draco then, he couldn't win when he was specifically tutored in duelling and Blaise basically joined a school club to learn how to fight."

"I'd rather think I'm a better fighter than most students in school clubs Pup, and don't underestimate your teaching skills. Your friends are learning some of the things you show them awfully fast."

Harry smiled at the praise, thinking again at the surprise the other Champions were in for when it came to fight either Daph or himself; hopefully, it would be both of them together.

-o-O-o-

There was nothing Lordly about the fragment of Voldemort that was locked in the ever shrinking conceptual cell: with every visit from the owner of the place, the conceptual walls seemed to inch closer and closer to each others.

It was too sudden for Tom to actually defend himself, the conceptual door banging open and Harry Potter's mind invading his own without the usual pleasantries.

It was weird, really, to have your mind invaded by the one you are currently inhabiting. Not that many people inhabit minds in the first place, but Tom made a mental note to research the implications of such an act when he had his body back.

Meanwhile, Harry was forcefully extracting some more memories from the captive Horcrux, memories that it wanted kept secret, and before it could push the intruder out, some had already slipped by its defenses.

"Trophies, huh? And significant places, places that symbolize your power and the power of wizards. Thanks for the info, Tom."

The conceptual body of the soul fragment sneered at Harry, forcing as much contempt as it could on its blurry and barely human features.

Harry merely laughed at the thing's hardship and left, tightly locking the conceptual door, conceptual walls inching closer to their prisoner in his wake. Voldemort deserved everything he got.

-o-O-o-

It was the week before the main part of the First Task, the first time Harry and the three other Champions would participate in the barbarian competition wizards called harmless entertainment.

Considering the crowd that had been present at the broom race a week before that, it was a given that whatever enlargement spells Dumbledore used on the Great Hall, it wouldn't be enough to house everybody.

An announcement had been made this very morning to let the students know the second and third floors would be completely out of bounds for the week preceding the Task, all classes being temporarily relocated to either higher floors or unused dungeon classrooms.

Harry was sitting on a comfortable chair provided by the Room of Requirement, staring with narrowed eyes at a stack of books placed on a table in front of him. Sirius had asked the Room for documentation on Animagi so he'd be able to teach Harry and his friends the transformation at a later date.

The Room had, as always, delivered only the very best, and Sirius's enthusiasm as he prepared a lesson plan only further fueled Harry's hatred toward the Tournament. He wanted only to open the books and read everything inside but the increased - and institutionalised - threat on his life demanded he concentrate on a more serious, conventional and consequentially reliable line of training.

Thus the scowling at the stack of books.

"If you can't read them, staring at their covers won't get you much farther either," the only Animagus in the room commented.

The scowl switched targets and actively tried to murder the taunting Marauder.

"I wonder if Snuffles was neutered..."

Only the slightest flinch around Sirius's man bits was enough to satisfy Harry. However, he turned a little more serious and addressed in a less insulting manner the man before him.

"Tell me, my dear Padfoot, I was wondering if you knew how to cast the Imperius Curse?"

Sirius turned his head away from his parchment, frowning. "I am not casting it on you."

"Come on! I have to know how to fight it, I just stand there like an idiot when I'm under it. I'm vulnerable!"

"Well, _my dear Harry_, most people are turned into slaves by the Imperius, so no complaining please."

"It's not fair that it doesn't work on me but still makes me vulnerable. Why does it work like that?"

Sirius cracked a smile. "I'd say it's because you're so stubborn that even under the Imperius you refuse to take orders. Now, maybe you can't break it because you're just not strong willed enough."

Harry's scowl came back with reinforcements. "I'll show you strong willed!"

And, for the next four hours, Sirius Black vainly tried to write his lesson plan while under the constant effects of wandless tickling spells.

-o-O-o-

At breakfast the day before the First Task, the Headmaster stood up for his second announcement of the week. In a matter of seconds, the students fell silent, waiting for the only man Voldemort had ever feared to speak. There _were_ rumors that he feared Harry too, but many were still quite certain the Boy-Who-Lived merely had the most insane luck.

"Good morning, my friends. Imagine my surprise when, upon waking up, my calendar yelled at me that I was to release the tastier details of the up and coming First Task of the TriWizard Tournament."

At this point, the old wizard smiled like a simple man at the Great Hall, waiting for the rising noise of students excited about the festivities or wondering if a mere enchanted calendar could actually dare yell at the most powerful man in Great Britain, to dissipate. When the silence had mostly returned, he picked up where he'd left.

"I will of course refrain from boring you with details, I do remember what it is like to have a teenager's attention span. I've always said that classes ought to be shorter," he paused to smile some more at the glaring professors, "but let's stay on track. What you have seen so far was no more than an introduction to the TriWizard Tournament, an impressive introduction if I might add my personal opinion, but this is what you will see tomorrow afternoon.

The second and third floors have been out of bounds for a good reason, of that there is no doubt. How else could we have completely remodeled the layout of those two floors? Yes, you've heard me well. We have turned part of Hogwarts into a labyrinth of stone, populated by unknown portraits to avoid favoritism and sprinkled with a few traps here and there in good fun.

The Champions' goal, and Miss Chang's goal as well, will be to not only retrieve the key that is hidden somewhere within the two floors, but to be the one to leave the maze with it. All contestants will have the right to fight or cooperate, nobody knows where the key actually is and Peeves is crazier than ever. Did I mention that a giant Golem will be patrolling the corridors? Anyway, have a nice breakfast!"

Approximately eight people weren't very excited at the news in the Great Hall, and coincidentally five of these people tended to be the subject of most conversations.

-o-O-o-

Ludovic Bagman rose from the Judges' table to address the crowd amassed in the enlarged stands. There was a giant mirror hung on a wall of the Hall, and every spectator held a smaller one in their hands.

"People of Britain, of France, of Bulgaria, of the world! Here we are, today, to witness the prowess of our youth as part of the First Task, of the TriWizard Tournament!"

He bowed at the cheering masses of wizards and witches, all of them eager to see young people battling for their lives and victory all the same. What better way to get their minds off the war?

"Believe me, the Ministry of Magic has outdone itself on this fine event. Our Champions Cedric Diggory, his Second Cho Chang, Viktor Krum, Fleur Delacour and the unexpected Harry Potter are right now on their way to the arena that was crafted out of the very stones of this castle. Only a few feet above this wonderfully enchanted ceiling, a battle for glory is about to start.

The tension is rising, I can feel it, I can feel the show will satisfy each and every one of us. Remember the acrobatics we were shown during the preliminary Task, and try to imagine what wonders we are sure to witness for the true Task!

The contestants will be instructed to retrieve the Golden Key hidden somewhere within the maze that was crafted just for your enjoyment. To do so, they will have to battle each others, or will they cooperate? Will they seek the help of the portraits, evade the Poltegheist Peeves' notice? Will they fight the granite Golem our Headmasters have crafted for this event, or will they flee its strength and resilience?

We are about to find out. In three minutes exactly from now, the Task will begin. It will only end when two conditions are met: the chime indicating the key has left the maze must sound, and a competitor has to be holding it! Lords and Ladies, wizards and witches, let the First Task begin!"

The gathered spectators burst into applause and excited conversations erupted from every corner of the crowded Great Hall.

The mirror that covered the wall behind where the Head Table used to be blurred for an instant, then came back into focus, only to show the unfamiliar corridors of the redesigned second and third floors. The mirror alternatively showed the Champions or random corridors. From certain points of view, a low rumbling and rythmed sound could be heard in the distance.

"And remember you can change the point of view of your Protean mirror with a tap of yor wand!" Bagman added, merrily making an example of his own personal mirror.

-o-O-o-

Severus Snape always found prize in his observant nature: you couldn't afford to be nervous, fearful, or to actually display the slightest hint of an emotion around him. He always knew.

And, Igor Karkaroff was nervous, overly so. The ex-Death Eater repeatedly sent glances in Albus's direction, there was the thinnest amount of sweat on his forehead, and his hand held his wand in a strong grip, one that suggested vigilance.

Coming from anybody apart from Moody, constant vigilance had a reason. Seeing Dumbledore wasn't doing anything about it even though he had obviously noticed everything there was to notice in the entire room, Snape stood up, walked to the Judges' table and pulled Karkaroff from his sleeve.

Most spectators were still experimenting with their Protean mirrors by then and a scarce few saw the Potions Professor dragging one of the three Headmasters into an antechamber.

"What is _wrong_ with you?" Igor demanded, pulling away from Severus's grip.

"Do not play innocent. I know the Mark has been regularly calling for us in the last few days, and I know you were never able to resist the pain it inflicts."

"Get to the point! The Task begins in only a minute, how am I supposed to do my job if I miss it?"

Snape sneered and grabbed Karkaroff's jaw, pressing him against a wall. "I have heard about an assignment of yours, and I will not allow you to get in the way of my own job! What does the Dark Lord want you to do, and how do you plan to do it?"

Igor wrenched himself away from Snape's grip once again, nearly spitting at his fellow Death Eater. "I do not have to answer to you, Snape. Be aware that many doubt your loyalty, and I will not reveal anything I was not ordered to reveal to you."

Before Snape could answer, the door opened to allow Ludo Bagman in. "What are you two doing? The Task is starting right now!"

-o-O-o-

The metallic bars felt strong under Harry's fingers. The cell he was currently in, if one could call a barred alcove a 'cell', was strong and yet he doubted it could have held him for very long, whether he had a wand or not.

He heard a chime coming from somewhere in the floor he had been dropped off into. The Tournament assistants had led him, blindfolded, into the alcove he was currently waiting in, and he didn't even know if he was on the second or third floor. From behind the bars, all he could see was that every single landmark he used to have had become useless.

The bars slowly lowered themselves into the ground, and Harry fingered the small piece of gold in his pocket. The assistants had given him a key fragment, and from the size of the fragment he would have to steal the ones the other Champions had probably been handed to be able to get the entire key and win.

Then there was the question of leaving the maze with the key: he didn't know where the stairs to leave were, or even if there were such stairs. There were windows, those he could certainly use with a Cushioning Charm for the fall.

The bars reached the ground and Harry calmly stepped out of the alcove, Disillusioning himself and silencing his footsteps as he walked. The mirrors used by the spectators were enchanted to see through disillusionment so he found no fear of ruining the show.

Not that it was more important than actually surviving anyway.

The announced presence of traps led Harry to believe walking calmly until he had a better idea of where he was would be the ideal strategy. He passed a few portraits he didn't recognize, and every time he saw a tapestry he didn't remember he had a look behind it to check whether it concealed a new secret passage.

There was one time when the tapestry tried to bite him, but apart from that everything was perfectly normal, at least up to the point when he bumped into something- someone.

He could feel the someone raise his or her arm at the same time as he raised his own wand, but his _Depulso_ was the only spell cast as the someone was sent flying at a set of armor a few feet away.

Before he or her could react and do anything else he cast a few stunners in quick succession, hoping at least one would connect or force his opponent to reveal him or herself. No shield sprang into existence, no sound indicated any movement anywhere around him, nothing.

He turned on his heels and ran. He couldn't cast anything to reveal his opponent lest he reveal his position, and invisible against invivisible fights were much too random for his liking.

He ran at a comfortable pace for half a minute, intent on putting some distance between himself and where his confrontation happened without exhausting himself. As he leaned against a wall to catch his breath and study his surroundings, a whisper reached his ears.

He felt more than saw the wave of magic blowing through the corridor, and instead of shielding against what he knew was a revealing spell, sent a flurry of curses flying in the direction of the spell's origin.

As his disillusionment was dispelled, a bright purple shield intercepted one of his curses. Behind the shield, the outline of a tall figure was revealed, the sign of a weakening disillusionment.

From the height of the figure it was either Cedric or Viktor, and if it was Cedric then Cho wasn't far away and Harry was vulnerable. Then again, the shield he saw had been designed to effectively block Dark Magic, which suggested Viktor was his new opponent.

Exploiting some of the knowledge he'd forced out of the soul fragment, he cast some of the most obscure Dark spells he could without resorting to lethal warfare, and smiled as all the spells were blocked by rather elaborate shields.

This was no Cedric, and the return volley of spells only confirmed that, because the kind Hufflepuff was certainly not the type to attempt to shred your skin or trigger a cramp in your respiratory system.

Harry dodged most and blocked the rest, while returning a curse or two whenever he could. Eventually the Bulgarian finished his chain spell and Harry dodged the last incoming curses as he started transfiguring a rug close to Krum into an angry dog. He had to let a Cutting Curse hit him in the shoulder to finish the process but soon enough he was able to fully focus on the offensive.

Krum started backing away and tried to dodge all the spells Harry was sending at him while keeping his wand busy stunning the dog; a simple Leg-Locker connected right in his chest and he fell to the ground. The dog was banished away right as it was pouncing for his throat but Harry was able to finish him with one last stunner.

He cast a few Notice-Me-Nots around him and started searching Viktor's robes for the key, finally finding it transfigured into a ring. He saw the two key fragments in his possession didn't match, as if he had one ebd and Viktor the other.

He pocketed the two fragments into a magically hidden pocket and set off to look for Fleur, Cedric and Cho. And, hopefully, avoid the Golem.

-o-O-o-

Cedric lightly squeezed his left hand, making sure he was still holding on to his disillusioned girlfriend. He felt her hand press down on his own shoulder and squeeze back. Both smiled, unseen by the other; they hadn't encountered anything so far, but the first task had still been a lot of fun.

Both of them sneaking about while periodically checking each other's presence and well-being, occasionally following a sound, or running from the loud steps that seemed to indicate something heavizer than Hagrid was heading their way. They still had yet to stumble upon one of the announced traps.

Then he tripped on something - he reflexively rolled on the ground, checking around them for triggered traps or potential threats of any kind. He didn't see anything out of place.

"Cho, are you still there?", he whispered while still brandishing his wand in random directions around him.

"Yeah. Did you just trip on your own feet or was there something involved?"

He prodded the place where he'd been caught off guard with his foot, and encountered something. "There's something, it's soft but heavy."

When both were focusing hard enough on what they could feel but not see, they realised that they had seen it all along, but not noticed it.

"It's Krum. He must have run into Harry."

Cho gave an unseen nod. "If there weren't two of us, I'd run rather than duel him."

"You're right, Krum's one of the best in a school that teaches duelling, Dark Arts, and he's three years older. I say we still avoid him, never mind there's two of us."

"Imagine what it would be with his girlfriend as well. The girl's feisty, I'll give her that."

**STOMP**

"It's coming again! Grab my arm!" Cedric said, this time out loud, grabbing around for his girlfriend.

**STOMP**

She reached out and encountered his hand in mid -air, "Run!"

**STOMP**

And both ran in opposite directions. After standing back up, agreeing on a direction and running again, they ran right into a giant mass of stone, one shaped like a taller and fitter Hagrid. The thing's head was turned toward them, with two very alive-looking eyes, electric blue eyes that gave the Golem a frightening appearance, staring at them right through the disillusionments.

"EEP!"

"_Reducto_!"

The spell hit the monstrosity on the forehead, but the stone was barely chipped by the Reductor. Somehow the thing's eyes narrowed without having lids, but it ignored them, instead opting to face the wall on the side of the corridor.

The Golem pressed itself against the stone wall, and before Cedric and Cho's disbelieving eyes, it stepped through the wall, certainly off to stalk another section of the maze. There was a silent agreement not to mention this confusing experience again, and off the two went, resuming their search for the rest of the key fragments.

-o-O-o-

Peeves! The bastard had done it again, bumped into him to make him think there was somebody there. Only, this time he didn't use a simple _Depulso_, his irritation brought out the big guns and the overpowered revealing spell, one that would have made a man bigger than Krum stagger along with removing a Disillusionment cast by Dumbledore, nearly knocked Peeves out while he was revealed.

The Poltergheist was lucky Voldemort's knowledge on curses for his kind hadn't come as quickly as Harry wished it had, and his escape still a narrow one. At least, that was one of the obstacles the officials had warned them of: an annoying spirit.

And it was very weird that he hadn't encountered anything apart from the annoying spirit, weird enough for him to think the maze would only become more dangerous with time. His thoughts were interrupted, though confirmed, when a bright light flashed in the hallway, blinding him for a second, before the hallway _itself_ started spinning and floating to the upper level.

The moving staircase concept applied to hallways; anyway he didn't have time to think any more about the magical implications of moving such a weight because where the hallway had taken him, were Cedric and Cho, both looking at each other with wide eyes.

There was a pregnant pause and the curses staretd flying. Harry, who had been shaken as well as blinded and revealed - though his opponents had also been victims of the latter two - started his outnumbered fight on the wrong foot. A Reducto would have blasted his right shoulder apart if he hadn't managed to wandlessly shield himself at the last moment, and he had tried to cast so fast that his aim was extremely off compared to his usual prowess.

Then he stunned Cho, Cedric woke her up at the cost of a Bludgeoning Hex in the ribcage, Harry banished two tapestries into his opponents and he stunned them both through the material, then unwrapping the worthy opponents to get the key fragment.

He smiled at the three pieces of metal in his hand, before scowling at the _incomplete _key he had just reassembled. At least one fragment was still in the maze, somewhere, and none of the other Champions had found it so far.

-o-O-o-

Maybe he shouldn't have asked the portraits for help. _Maybe _it should have been obvious. _Maybe _it was obvious now.

It must have been a progressive _Confundus _of sorts for it to lead him astray that effectively without him noticing; the sublety reeked of Dumbledore's style. Who else would have managed leading Harry from a stone corridor inside a castle, into a flowery meadow in the middle of the countryside?

Harry tried to approach this logically: he was walking along a corridor, following one of the portraits' instructions, when suddenly it was _like_ opening his eyes, and there he was. In a flowery meadow, in the countryside. The only thing that could invite him to think his sanity was intact was the mirror hanging from a nearby tree branch.

All his revealing spells turned nothing up. Backtracking his steps led him nowhere, and the mirror was decidedly one way.

_The Great Hall must be having a good laugh right now_.

Well, logical didn't work. Absurd was next on the list, and what is more absurd than to think like Dumbledore does? One has to be crazy to do that, so Harry asked himself what would Dumbledore do in this situation.

He wouldn't look for wards, he wouldn't search for a hidden door or Confunding Charm; Dumbledore has an entirely different manner of thought.

Harry closed his eyes, and focused once again on the directions given to him by the portrait. It had said "It may look like you're lost for some time, but I swear! It'll lead you right to the key."

Without any care for his surroundings, his only thought being to remember the vague directions he'd been given, he stepped forward, once, twice, three times, **STOMP**.

Opening his eyes revealed the expected, a Golem so tall it had to duck to keep its head under the ceiling, its body and limbs thicker than Harry himself, a powerful and complex set of enchantments nearly palpable from the inch that separated Harry from it.

And damn, the eyes were freaky! The same shade as Moody's, but surprisingly still and focused. To the Golem, Harry was the only thing in the world, the only prey. The eyes told Harry the entire story: he was out there for some Boy-Who-Lived, the rest just wouldn't be half as tasty to it.

He did the sensible thing, turned on his heels and ran.

A Golem is a fast thing, or at least this one was; if the kind of enchantment you need to power one of those could last more than a few minutes when too far away from its Master, and if it didn't represent a constant drain of both magic and raw brain power too, then Golems would be the ones fighting wars, not wizards.

Faster than Harry, able to easily defeat Hagrid in a straight fight, the Golem was a killing machine, one that was gaining back the lost ground.

Harry felt the magic triggering the trap before it was even sprung, and instinctively jumped, a pit opening itself under his feet and he landed on the other side. The Golem jumped too but one of its feet caught the hole in the ground, slowing the construct down a little.

Harry dodged a few of the armors' sword swings and dived forward when the corridor he was currently running in started moving to switch its position with another one. He landed on an immobile chunk of castle, the Golem behind him taken away with the rest of the corridor around him.

It appeared that the traps all triggered at the worst possible time.

Still, he couldn't help but break into a happy whistle when he saw the death machine, powerless as it was dragged away from its prey. Then the stones on a wall a few dozen feet away started moving in a weird pattern, and the Golem walked out of it, its head and scary eyes already focused on Harry.

He looked around himself and found there was nothing but walls between the Golem and him, and nothing but a window behind him. Harry was caught in a dead-end with something akin to the Fist of God after him.

The Golem started toward Harry, quickly gathering speed; there was no way he could stop it, no unmovable object would even slow the thing down with the speed it had gathered, and the impact would be instantly lethal.

He did the only thing he could. "_Accio Golem_!"

The massive stone machine flew over Harry's ducking form and flew straight out the window, destroying not only its glass and frame but the wall around it as well.

Through the satisfying sounds of destruction - and survival -, while the stony foe was plummeting to the ground with pieces of wreckage still airborne around it, Harry heard a high pitched chime sound in the castle. _The key has left the maze_.

Without missing a beat he ran to the hole in the wall, barely sparing a glance at the Golem down on the Grounds below him before jabbing his wand at the stone one level above him. With a sound of stone scraping against stone, a chunk of the castle's wall twice as large as the construct detached itself from Hogwarts, immediately falling in the Golem's direction.

Harry's banishing charms accelerated the tons of solid stone even further, and the impact shook the frame of the castle, leaving a considerable crater on the ground down below. Then, with a Cushioning Charm, Harry let go of the wall he'd been holding onto and fell at the side of the smashed Golem.

"_Accio_ Key"

The small metallic object flew from in between the chunks of broken stone, into Harry's hand; and it was whole, meaning the other fragments had been no more than decoys. He looked up to see a mirror floating down from the damaged corridor, so he waved at it with a smile. He'd won; who needs a Second?

Not that he'd ever say it to Daphne's face.


End file.
